


Addicted To You

by Ltleflrt



Series: Hooked On Your Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Mating, Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bottom Dean, Castiel's True Form, Creature Castiel, Dean Thinks He is Heterosexual, Dom/sub Undertones, Incubus Castiel, M/M, Mage Sam, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Profound Bond, Switching, Top Castiel, True Form Sex, Warlock Dean, mentions of mpreg, mpreg in the epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 120,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a Warlock.  A very very drunk Warlock.  Oh, and a horny Warlock.</p><p>Hey, he knows how to summon a succubus!</p><p>He should totally do that.  <i>Hell yeah!</i>  Guaranteed hot sex!</p><p>Except that spellcasting while drunk is a Very Bad Idea.  He's just too drunk to remember that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just going to be a few thousand words of smut, but plot invaded. I have no idea how long this will be, so this will be an adventure for me as well as for anyone who reads this :D
> 
> Dean is going to have a grand old time in this fic, but he is not able to give proper consent because he's drunk and drugged. Hence the non-con tag. The setting is modern, but magic is commonly used. I don't plan on writing a lot of background on the world, but feel free to ask me questions.
> 
> Title comes from the song _Addicted To You_ by Avicii

[Embedded Art By Purgatoryjar](http://purgatoryjar.tumblr.com)

 

Spellwork is an exact science, despite what the scientists like to believe.  You can’t fudge _at all._ It requires the correct ingredients, in the correct amounts, at the correct time, and hell, even sometimes the correct lighting.  Which is why there are candles flickering all around the room. 

The candles are essential for summoning a succubus.  They like the mood lighting, so lightbulbs cannot be used as a substitute.  Considering how long it had taken Dean to light them, it’s a miracle he didn’t start a fire. 

Or maybe he did, and his whiskey soaked brain just hasn’t realized it yet. Because the summoning spell he just cast is a lot smokier than he thinks it should be. 

It takes a few seconds for the smoke to clear enough for Dean to see, although there is enough alcohol still buzzing through his veins that his vision is still blurred.  It has to be, because otherwise, he’d be seeing a busty succubus lounging in the center of his summoning circle… 

…and that is definitely not a succubus. 

As he stares the flexing _boobless_ torso of the nude creature before him, he can only think two things.  First, he really shouldn’t be casting spells while completely blitzed, because alcohol induced slurring does not make for correct pronunciation of ancient and dead languages.  Second, letting his friends goad him into summoning a succubus when his drunk ass couldn’t handle being teased about how many times he struck out at the bar that night was beyond stupid.   

The proof of that is rising to its feet, right now. 

Dean kneels, frozen amid the tools of his craft, unable to tear his eyes away from the creature.  It is tall and humanoid, with miles of smooth golden skin.  Unbidden, his eyes fall on the creature’s groin, and he has to swallow at the sight of its soft cock nestled amid dark curls.   

He’s never felt inadequate before, in fact he’s pretty proud of what he’s packing.  But for the first time he feels a twinge of envy.   

“See something you like?” 

The deep voice is mostly devoid of inflection, but it still feels like a physical touch.  Smooth, light like feathers brushing over his skin.  A shudder flows up from the base of Dean’s spine, and it jolts him out of his trance.  His eyes jerk up, and he goes still again. 

The creature’s face is human.  Strong brow and jaw, wide cheekbones.  Dark hair that stands up in all different directions, as if someone has been gripping it in their fists, tugging, pulling- 

Dean’s fingers twitch. 

And then his attention is snared by the creature’s eyes.  Its eyes glow blue, but it’s subtle, almost unnoticeable in the golden light of the candles Dean has spread around the room.  The pupils are slitted like a cat’s. 

The creature stares at him, searching for something Dean isn’t sure how to define.  It tilts its head as if puzzled, although its expression does not change.   

“Do you not speak, human?” 

A small noise bubbles up from Dean’s throat, and he refuses to call it a whimper.  That _fucking voice._  It goes straight to his head, making him feel like the room is spinning around him, only leaving him free of the nastier side effects of vertigo. 

“Who are you?” Dean demands.  He’s glad to hear his voice sound steady.  Not even a hint of a drunken slur.  

The creature’s eyes start to wander over him, and Dean realizes he’s practically kneeling at its feet, so he scrambles to his own.  Once it has examined him from head to toe, leaving him feeling stripped bare despite the fact that he still wears his ceremonial robes, it turns its attention to the room.   

Dean is about to demand an answer, when it finally speaks.  “Cas.” 

He blinks.  There is power in names, so he doubts that is the creature’s True Name.   _Cas_ may be its title, but it is not one Dean has ever heard before.  It tells him nothing.  He decides to try another angle.  “ _What_ are you?” 

The creature turns away from eyeing Dean’s bed which he pushed against the wall earlier to make room for the summoning circle, and pins him with its gaze again.  “I am an Incubus.” 

Oh. Shit. 

Dean wanted to summon a sex demon, and he got one.  Just the wrong kind. 

He’s never mixing alcohol and magic ever again. 

Something of Dean's growing horror must show on his face, because the creature - no, _Cas -_ finally shows a hint of an expression.  The delicate skin around its eyes crinkles, and one side of its full lipped mouth tilts up in a tiny smirk.  It steps close to the edge of the summoning circle and resumes staring at Dean as if it is examining the quality of his soul.  "You did not intend to summon me?" 

Cas's voice is reverberating through Dean, making his skin tingle with anticipation.  And that is messed up because he's always had eyes only for the ladies. 

Okay there was that one time he'd gotten a little excited when Benny had kissed him on a dare, but he'd been drunk, alright?  Apparently he was a complete fucking idiot when he was drunk.  Just look at the mess he was in now.   

He drags a hand over his face, and sighs at himself.  "No, I didn't.  I'm sorry."  He drops his hands to his side, holding them palm out to show that he does not hold any ritual weapons meant for sacrifice.  He should have done that immediately to reassure the creature, but he'd been too shocked at the presence of a _male_ demon in his room and he'd forgotten to be polite to his guest.  "I release you from the summoning," he says formally. 

Cas tilts his head again - having gotten an eyeful of demon dick makes Dean think he really should stop thinking of Cas as an _it -_ and his top lip lifts away from his teeth in what looks too feral to be a smile.  "Thank you, human.  However I wish to stay." 

Dean takes a step back.  He's safe while Cas is trapped within the summoning circle, but that doesn't calm his suddenly racing heart.  He hides his trepidation behind more formality.  "I apologize again for bringing you here, and if you wish to extract a small favor from me I will be happy to negotiate with you.  But then I want you to leave." 

He refrains from threatening Cas with a banishment.  He can be patient and diplomatic, despite what his brother Sam believes about him.  Threatening a creature that as yet has made no move to harm him, and is safely trapped, is downright stupid.  And he is starting to sober up enough to make better decisions thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. 

"A favor, you say?" 

Dean is really starting to hate the way Cas's voice affects him.  His body is reacting to the low rumble in ways that he refuses to acknowledge.  It's the adrenaline.  He's not getting turned on.  "A small one," he clarifies. 

Cas's eyes narrow as he considers Dean's proposal.  After a long moment in which Dean does his best not to fidget, Cas dips his head regally.  "I will take a kiss as an apology for your actions, human." 

A kiss?  Dean's soggy brain struggles to remember why that sounds like a Bad Idea.  He chews his bottom lip, and feels his cheeks flush when Cas's gaze is drawn by the action.  Cas's smile widens, and the sight of his inhumanly sharp canines reminds Dean why kissing sex demons should be avoided.  Their saliva has a potent venom that lets them control their victims.   

This is a tidbit of information he wishes he'd remembered _before_ attempting a summoning. 

He huffs out an annoyed breath.  "Good try, Cas.  But I'm not stupid enough to let you drool all over me." 

Cas's eyes widen, and Dean hopes it's surprise over his knowledge and not Dean's disrespect.  He hopes Cas doesn't take offense.  Even a sex demon can be a deadly enemy when angered. 

Thankfully, Cas doesn't address it.  "It would be just a simple peck on the lips, human.  No more than that." 

"Really?" Dean blurts.  "No tongue?" 

Is that disappointment he's feeling?  No.  No way.  Gods, his head is so fucked up.  Fucking booze.   

A low rumble emanates from Cas's chest.  Soft laughter.  It laces his words when he answers.  "No tongue." 

Dean stares at the incubus through narrowed eyes, trying to suss out any hint of trickery.  He feels like he’s missing something, but he truly can’t find anything wrong with the agreement.  And a chaste kiss is a small price to pay to send the incubus away.  He jerks his chin down in a confirming nod.  “Alright.  A kiss.” 

“You’ll need to come closer, human,” Cas says softly, so low that Dean leans forward to catch the words.  He looks down at his feet which are just inside the chalk lines of the summoning circle.  “I would come to you, but…” 

Dean looks down as well, at first just to check the lines are still in place.  But his attention is caught by the delicate bones and tendons of Cas’s feet.  He blinks, and shakes his head, abashed at himself for the sudden urge to run his lips over the golden skin there.  He’s never in his life had a foot fetish, so he has no idea where that came from. 

Duh, Incubus.   _Sex_ demon.  And apparently Cas is putting out _come fuck me_ vibes, even from within the containment spell. 

He snaps his eyes back up and takes a fortifying breath before closing the space between them.  He stops just outside the summoning circle, near enough so that he only has to bend forward a few inches to touch their lips together.  This close, he can see that Cas is an inch or so shorter than him, but they are almost eye to eye.  It’s an odd sensation since he towers over most women, and is accustomed to looking down much further to see the mouth he is about to kiss. 

He realizes he is staring when Cas’s lips twitch into a smile again.   

“A little closer, human,” Cas murmurs.  “I cannot pass the circle’s border.” 

Bracing himself against the awkwardness of kissing a male, Dean closes the last of the distance between them and presses his lips against Cas’s.  Warmth blooms where they touch, and Dean’s heart begins to pound.  He tells himself it is fear that Cas lied and is going to take more than this.  He refuses to acknowledge the twinge of desire in his groin.  Any physical reaction he has is not his own.  He is in the presence of a creature that exists purely for physical pleasure, and it is natural that Dean’s body would react even though he prefers the company of women. 

He’s not sure how long is the right amount of time, and Cas is making no move to end the kiss.  Five seconds?  Ten seconds?  When does it become more than a peck? 

He settles on fifteen seconds, and then pulls away.  With difficulty.  Already he misses the warmth of Cas’s lips under his own.   

Cas is smiling up at him, eyes glowing softly and pupils relaxed into a half oval.  Dean can’t look away, although he’s not sure if he’s even trying.   

“Thank you, human,” Cas breathes against him.  His breath smells of cloves and honey, and something musky that Dean’s muddled brain can’t identify.  “That was lovely.” 

“Uh… you’re welcome.”  His own voice sounds strange.  Low and breathless.  He clears his throat and takes a step back, reaching up to rub at the warm skin at the back of his neck, and finally forces himself to look away from the Incubus.  “So it was… nice meeting you.  Sorry again.  I do dumb things when I’m drunk sometimes.” 

“You are forgiven,” Cas says.   

Then steps over the edge of the summoning circle and back into Dean’s personal space. 

When it comes to the fight or flight instinct, Dean’s first reaction is always fight.  He opens his mouth to start the banishment spell, but he’s too late.  Cas surges forward and captures the words with his mouth, invades Dean with his tongue.  His fingers weave themselves into Dean’s hair, holding him still, forcing him to accept Cas’s kiss. 

There is nothing chaste about the way Cas’s mouth claims Dean’s.  His tongue traces the edges of Dean’s teeth, brushes against the sensitive skin inside his lips, and twines around Dean’s own tongue.  The taste of cloves, honey, and musk fills him, running down his throat, invading his sinuses.  It seeps into his veins, and his own blood carries the venom to every inch of his flesh.  Faster and faster as the cadence of his heart increases. 

There is no resisting the venom.  Dean’s body betrays him, pulling Cas closer instead of pushing him away.  He is no longer a passive participant in the kiss.  His own tongue pushes into Cas’s mouth, and he sucks at him, bites his lips, and presses close, whimpering when he can’t feel Cas’s skin because the cloth of his robe is in the way.   

He becomes aware of a needy whine vibrating in his throat, and the part of his brain that somehow isn’t completely enslaved by the venom is embarrassed by it.  It gives him the strength - just barely - to pull away, although the obscene sucking sound Cas's mouth makes when he releases Dean’s bottom lip almost causes him to lose that small modicum of willpower. 

“You…” He’s panting; words are difficult.  “You lied.” 

Cas’s pupils constrict, and he tilts his head, clearly confused.  “I did?” 

Gods damn him for playing innocent.  But anger gives power to Dean's ability to resist the venom, and he loosens the grip he has on Cas’s waist.  His voice is steadier when he tries to speak again.  “You said you would leave in exchange for a kiss.” 

The confusion drains from Cas’s expression, and his smile is sly.  “I said I would forgive you for summoning me in exchange for a kiss.  I said nothing of leaving.” 

Well son of a bitch.  Dean knows he missed the loophole, but that’s a huge fucking loophole to miss. 

“I am never drinking again,” he mutters.  Not only did he let the incubus trick him, but apparently he also screwed up the lines of the summoning circle since the containment spell didn't work, and he hadn’t even noticed because he’d been too busy eyeballing Cas’s friggin’ feet. 

Cas’s eyes harden, and his lips tighten into a flat line.  “No, you will not.  I prefer my pets to be healthy, and alcohol is not good for you.”   

“Your pets?” Dean squeaks in surprise.  “Do you mean me?” 

He becomes aware of strong hands petting down over the back of his neck, and it’s soothing, despite everything.  “Of course, human.  You are quite lovely, and I would very much like to keep you.” 

“That’s not how this works,” Dean protests weakly.  He’s being backed toward the bed, but he makes no move to stop it from happening. 

“How do you think ‘this’ works?” Cas asks as he gently lowers Dean to the mattress. 

The memory foam feels soft under Dean’s body, and his legs fall open on their own, hindered only by the narrow skirt of his robe.  Sam thinks Dean’s love for his bed is unhealthy, but Dean has never been happier to be on his back before.  Most spell casters eschew modern conveniences, feeling that their magic should provide everything they need, but Dean has never subscribed to that notion.  Besides, he’s a Warlock.  He summons spirits and demons from Other Realms, not comfortable mattresses. 

Cas’s palms slide up the inside of his calves, pushing the robe up over his legs, bringing Dean’s thoughts back to the matter at hand.  “ _This_ ,” he says, gesturing between them.  “You’re supposed to be the pet, not me.” 

He realizes he said the wrong thing when Cas’s nostrils flair, and the glow of his eyes brightens.  “You humans enslave my kind, bonding them and forcing them to serve.  You know nothing of what we truly are.”  The glow dims, but not the intent in his expression.  “But I will teach you.” 

Dean is wholly aware of Cas's hands curling over his knees and pushing them wider, but he can't muster up the resistance to keep them from falling open in invitation.  The cloth of his robe pools around his hips, leaving him exposed to Cas's glowing gaze.  He'd gone to the bar commando, hoping to score with an eager coed, or maybe even a hot cougar. 

Instead he’s been roofied by a sex demon.  Fan- _fricken_ -tastic. 

His dick doesn’t have the same qualms as Dean’s brain, because it’s already hard and arching up against his belly.  Dean flushes hotly when he notices Cas examining him, but he can’t deny the little twinge of pride in his breast when the incubus’ lips turn up in a satisfied smirk.   

Cas leans forward, and Dean’s dick twitches in anticipation.  He’s surprised when Cas veers to the side and presses a kiss against the inside of his thigh, just above his knee.  The muscles in his leg jump when Cas flicks his tongue out over the spot he’d just kissed.   

The skin there burns, but it doesn’t hurt.  The heat spreads with each beat of Dean’s heart. 

Cas shifts and repeats the motions on Dean’s other leg, first kissing gently, then running his tongue over the spot.  The burn seeps through Dean’s skin, into his blood, boosting his arousal.  His breath comes in sharp gasps as Cas switches back and forth between his thighs, kissing, licking, moving closer and closer to the junction between them.   

He stares up at the ceiling, refusing to look down and watch Cas’s slow progress in the direction of his dick.  He may be really fucking horny, but it’s not him.  It’s not the soft lips, and the warm tongue.  It’s the venom. 

“Human.” 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and clamps his teeth over his bottom lip as Cas’s breath brushes over his engorged dick.  Gods, that mouth… that beautiful mouth that looks like it was made for sucking cock… it’s so close.  He could probably shift his hips and- 

“Human, look at me.” 

He stubbornly keeps his eyes closed, and clenches his teeth to hold in an angry protest over being called _human_ like some kind of lesser creature.  He didn’t cast the binding spell yet, so there is no way Cas was going to call him Master.  And Dean sure as fuck isn’t going to give the incubus his name.  His body may be happily betraying him, but he still has enough presence of mind to keep that little piece of information to himself. 

Cas’s hands are still on Dean’s knees, holding them open despite the fact that Dean hasn’t bothered trying to close them.  His thumbs are tracing small circles against his skin.  Dean is hyper aware of the touch because it makes him want to spread his legs wider, or pull his knees up to his chest and offer himself to the incubus. 

So when the touch disappears, Dean whimpers in protest.  His eyes fly open when it reappears at his waist, sliding up under the cloth off his robe and pushing it up to bare his stomach.  He immediately lifts his head and sees Cas kneeling on the mattress between his legs.   

His body looks golden in the candle light.  His shoulders are broad, his arms and chest muscled yet not overly so.  His cock, which had been soft the last time Dean looked is now hard and flushed dark with blood.  Saliva pools under Dean's tongue, and now he's imagining the weight of it in his mouth.   

"I would like to take this off of you now," Cas murmurs, drawing Dean's attention back up to his face.  "Let me see all of you." 

What's left of Dean's tattered willpower is shredded apart like the thinnest gossamer.  All he wants is to feel skin against skin, and getting naked is his top priority.  He responds by grabbing the cloth bunched over Cas’s wrists and tugging it up.  He wiggles and squirms so what's caught beneath him comes free, unaware of the delightful show he's putting on for the incubus, then sweeps it up over his head and tosses it off the bed.  He has the presence of mind to make sure it doesn't go anywhere near a candle, but otherwise his focus is on scooting closer to Cas.   

His thighs frame Cas's knees, and he reaches up to pull the incubus down into another open mouthed kiss.  He moans happily when cloves and honey floods over his taste buds again. 

Cas allows Dean to take the lead, humming in encouragement when Dean's hands start to explore.  But when Dean starts shifting and whimpering, his body unconsciously begging for more, Cas breaks the kiss.  He ignores Dean's grunt of protest and with a palm planted over Dean's heart, shoves him back on the bed. 

The movement is rough enough that it shocks Dean into a moment of clarity.  He's horrified by his actions, and stares up at Cas with wide eyes.  His breath saws in and out of his lungs, and his ears pound with each labored beat of his heart.   

Cas shifts and lays down between Dean's thighs, resting most of his weight on his elbows.  Dean's dick is trapped between their stomachs, and despite his fear, it takes every ounce of willpower not to grind up against that silky skin.  He can feel Cas's cock nudging the back of his thigh and he's torn between wanting to pull away, and the growing urge to try and rub against it. 

The incubus is making soft soothing sounds and offering his fingers over Dean's face and neck and shoulders.  "Shhh... shhh... I will take care of you."  He hums low in his throat and leans down to nuzzle Dean's jaw, scraping his lips and cheeks over the stubble there.  "You are such a pretty creature." 

Dean huffs in irritation. He had spent his life hearing that he's pretty, and it always annoys the hell out of him.  "I am not pretty." 

Cas lifts his head to look at Dean, one eyebrow raised in question.  "Oh?"  His expression turns thoughtful, and his eyes flick back and forth as he examines Dean closely.  His fingers come up and touch the delicate skin at the edge of Dean's eye, brushing lightly at his eyelashes.  "But you have such beautiful eyes... so green, yet flecked with precious gold." 

The drag of Cas's fingers tickles a little bit when he traces them down over Dean's cheek and across his bottom lip.  "Pink lips," he continues in a hypnotizing murmur, "so plump, and kissable.  Made for being tasted."  He punctuates his words by bending down to press a barely there kiss at the side of Dean's mouth. 

Dean turns his head toward Cas, hoping for more.  He whines when Cas dodges him.  God, he is burning up inside.  He doesn't even care anymore that Cas is male.  He wants him.  He wants everything.  His hands, his mouth, even his dick. 

 _No…_ no, no no no. 

But the voice of denial grows fainter as Cas continues his speech. 

A finger brushes over the bridge of Dean’s nose.  “Freckles.  Do you know what that means, human?” 

Dean shakes his head weakly. 

“It means,” Cas presses a kiss to his cheek, “you are so beautiful,” then the other cheek, “that the Sun cannot resist you.”  He kisses the tip of Dean’s nose, which is weird, but fuck if he doesn’t like it anyway.  “It has left the mark of its kisses all over your skin.” 

His attention turns away from Dean’s face, following the path of his hand as he runs it down over Dean’s throat, traces the peaks and dips around his collarbone.  He leans down and presses a kiss against Dean’s adam’s apple.  He nibbles at the skin, moving lower, licking and kissing a path down the center of Dean’s chest. 

He stops over Dean’s heart and lifts his head again.  The glow of his eyes seems dimmer because his pupils have dilated even further.  His lips are parted, and he’s panting shallowly as if he’s pulling Dean’s scent in through his mouth and savoring the flavor.  

Dean struggles to cling to the last of his resistance.  “Why…why are you doing this?” he gasps.  “Don’t you want a female?” 

Cas is busy watching his hands draw symbols across the planes of Dean’s chest and stomach.  “Why would I want a female?” 

“You know, because-” he sucks in a surprised breath when Cas dips his head and bites the soft flesh of his belly.  “Hey!” 

Cas’s teeth are sharp, and Dean can feel how close they are to breaking the skin despite the bite being gentle; Cas is careful not to hurt him.  He releases the roll of skin, and runs his tongue over it.  His eyes flick up, curious.  “Because..?” he prompts. 

It takes Dean a moment to remember what he was saying.  For the length of several heartbeats he stares at Cas in consternation.  It comes back to him when Cas seemingly gets bored with waiting and goes back to pressing soft kisses at random places on his torso.  He shakes his head in a vain attempt to shake the thought loose again.  “Don’t you guys go around impregnating women with demon babies?” 

Cas hums softly and runs his palm over Dean’s belly, stopping low, where a woman’s womb would be.  “You would be quite lovely swelling with my offspring…” 

Eyes shooting wide, Dean goes up on his elbows and starts trying to wriggle out from under Cas’s weight.  “No.   _No_.  Fuck you.  You are not going to-” 

He goes still when Cas surges over him and captures his face in his hands.  His tongue invades Dean’s mouth, filling him with the sweet nectar of his venom.  

It calms Dean, and he sinks back on the bed, letting Cas nibble and lick at him.  He forgets why he was upset.  His entire focus is narrowed down to Cas’s lips and tongue against his own.  He doesn’t even realize that his hands slip up around the back of Cas’s neck and weave through his hair, pulling him closer.   

He’s lost all sense of time by the time Cas ends the kiss.  His lips throb, and there is a tingle under his skin.  Vaguely he wonders if it’s possible to overdose on Incubus venom. 

Cas is petting him, running fingers through his hair and across his cheeks, and stroking his ears.  When Dean realizes his eyes are closed, he opens them and finds Cas gazing down at him with a fond twist of his lips.  “You do not need to worry about my breeding practices, human,” Cas says softly.  “Your body is not equipped to carry my children, but that does not mean I do not wish to couple with you.  My kind do not only mate to reproduce.” 

“Mate?” Dean croaks.  “What does that mean?” 

Cas doesn’t answer.  The faint smile he’s been sporting since Dean first summoned him has disappeared, replaced by an almost imperceptible frown.   

Once again, the sex haze clears a little when fear seeps in around the edges of his brain.  “Cas?  Why’re you talking about mating?” 

The smile comes back, softer and less sly.  “I like the way you say my name, human.” 

Dean wants to demand an answer, but when Cas dips his head and laps at one of his nipples, his brain melts and leaks out of his ears, and he no longer remembers what they were talking about.   

His nipples have always been sensitive, but with Cas’s venom running through his veins, everything is heightened.  His skin feels as if it is being gently pricked by millions of tiny needles, and the tips of his fingers are doing this weird half-numb thing that makes him want to rub them against anything in reach - which right now is Cas and all of his warm, bare skin.  It should be uncomfortable, but it makes him writhe and wriggle in an attempt to get anything to touch him, whether it's Cas or just the brush off his sheets.  Even breathing feels fucking fantastic, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head as he sucks in a deep breath at the same time Cas sucks a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. 

His hands go back to the dark nest of Cas’s hair, pulling him closer.  His back arches off the bed, and a broken sound spills from his lips as the motion rubs his dick against the hair at Cas’s groin.  He can feel the burning hot press of Cas’s dick against his hip, and he wriggles against it.   

Every qualm he had about the gender of the demon has melted away.  He _needs._  Friction, heat, _more_. 

“Oh god,” Dean moans.  “Please, Cas.   _Please.”_  

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for.  His brain isn’t functioning at that level of coherency anymore.  He’s barely aware that he’s begging at all.   

Cas releases his nipple with an obscene slurping sound, and Dean cries out a wordless protest.  But the loss means that Cas can now lavish attention on his other nipple.  It’s torture and a reward, and Dean doesn’t want it to end.  He stares sightlessly at the ceiling, his whole existence narrowed down to Cas’s mouth against his skin. 

Eventually, Cas raises up over Dean again, staring down at the marks his lips left behind.  He seems oblivious to Dean’s fingers in his hair attempting to pull him back down.  His body is smaller than Dean’s, but it is still inhumanly strong in comparison.  The glow of his eyes is warm with something that looks suspiciously like pride.   

Dean is hovering on the edge of an orgasm.  He can feel it building in the base of his spine, rolling hot and urgent in the pit of his belly.  “Cas... “ he whines as he tilts his pelvis up in a bid for more friction.   

He needs to come.  But he can’t… why can’t he… why… 

He must be babbling out loud, because Cas begins petting him in long, soothing strokes over his chest and belly.  “Shhh… I’ll give you what you need… shhh…"   

When Cas slides a hand between them and wraps long fingers around Dean’s dick, Dean arches off the bed with a howl.  The pressure that had been building inside him is finally released, and waves of pleasure flow over him.  It centers around his dick, which is jerking inside the ring of Cas’s fingers as he comes, but he feels it through his whole body.  It pounds through him to the rhythm of his galloping heart, over and over.   

The overwhelming pleasure whites out his brain, and he doesn't come back to himself for several long minutes.  When he does, he has to blink several times to focus his eyes.  Cas hovers over him, straddling him now instead of laying between his legs.  Dean doesn't remember him moving, but the weight of Cas’s hips over his own grounds him, leads him back to himself. 

His chest is damp with sweat and semen, but he barely notices.  All his attention is on Cas, who is petting him again, his hand damp with Dean’s own come, murmuring praise. 

“Good… yes… so beautiful.  Such a wonderful, beautiful human... “ he is doing that shallow panting thing again, scenting Dean, at his temple, his throat, his chest where his tongue flicks out to lick up the semen coating his skin.  The low hum of his voice sinks into Dean, making him drowsy.  

His eyes slip closed, and he barely registers Cas’s pleased murmurs before he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean's mind floats in darkness, but he's aware that his body is warm and comfortable.  He's on his side, and something is radiating heat against his back.  It seeps into his muscles, making them feel like warm putty.   

The something shifts behind him, and Dean wiggles closer to it, unwilling to allow it to separate from his body.  It shakes softly, and a low rumble fills Dean’s ears.  It sounds like laughter.  He smiles in response, pleased that Cas finds him entertaining. 

 _Cas?_  

His eyes pop open when memories of what exactly is cuddled up against him breaches the sleepy fog around his brain.  He squirms away from the furnace of Cas’s body, nearly falling off the edge of the bed in his bid for freedom. 

Cas let’s him go, watching him with amusement sparkling in his inhuman eyes.  “Good morning, human.” 

Dean finally registers the sunlight filtering in through the white curtains of his window.  The candles he had lit around the room have all guttered out.  Other than the bed being pushed up against the wall, his room looks completely normal. 

Well, there's also the sex demon lounging in his bed.  That's definitely out of the ordinary. 

It’s hard to look away from Cas.  He looks fully human other than the strange eyes, but something about the way he’s sprawled across Dean’s rumpled sheets and comforter makes him look like a large cat, lounging in a patch of sunlight.  If he had a tail it would probably be flipping lazily back and forth, and Dean is almost surprised he doesn’t hear the incubus purring since he looks so pleased with himself.   

Cas’s hair, which had looked black in the candlelight, is actually dark brown highlighted with shades of honey, and is currently spiked in many different directions.  Dean feels warmth spread through his cheeks and ears when he realizes that the sex hair is all his fault.  He can still feel the phantom silk of it against his fingers. 

“Why are you still here?” Dean demands gruffly. 

Cas props himself up on an elbow and leans forward, lazily scenting the air between them.  “I am not done playing with you.” 

Dean scrambles off the edge of the bed, nearly stumbling over his own feet.  He manages to steady himself, and takes several steps back.  “I don’t think so, pal.  We’re done.  Leave.” 

Something inside him cries out in protest, but he stomps it down.   

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Cas holds a hand out to him.  “Come here, human.” 

It takes far more effort than it should for Dean to take a step back instead of immediately obeying the summons.  “No.” 

Cas curls his fingers inward, and Dean’s body betrays him, jerkily closing the space between them as he tries to assert his own will over it.  Apparently the venom is still infecting him despite the fact that he no longer feels like he’s going to burn into a cinder from lust.   

Gritting his teeth, Dean fights against every step.  It does him little good, because soon he is standing between Cas’s knees.  

“You are even lovelier in daylight,” Cas says as he takes one of Dean’s hands between both of his own, turning it palm up.  He traces the tip of a finger over Dean’s lifeline, leaving a tingling trail behind.  His eyes flick up, so blue, so full of promise.  Without breaking eye contact he sticks out his tongue and laps at Dean’s palm before he speaks again.  “If you truly want me to leave, you only have to voice the correct spell.” 

Dean’s jaw clenches so hard that pain shoots up into his temples.  “You know I can’t,” he grits out. 

Cas sucks Dean’s thumb into his mouth, and his eyelids fall to half mast as if he’s taken a bite of the sweetest dessert.  He swirls his tongue around it, and Dean’s dick begins to harden in response.  After suckling softly for several heartbeats he releases it and nips at the tip.  “Why can’t you?” 

“Because you’re fucking controlling me with your venom,” Dean snaps. 

“Hmm.”  Cas presses a kiss against the fragile skin over the pulse fluttering wildly at Dean's wrist.  “Is that what you believe?” 

“Well it sure as shit isn’t because I want you.”  Dean’s body sways towards Cas despite his heated denial.  He just barely holds back a pleased whine when Cas drops his hand and wraps both arms around his hips, pulling him close enough that his hardening dick rests against Cas’s chest. 

Cas’s tongue flicks out against Dean’s navel.  “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Is that what you want?” Cas asks between feathering kisses over Dean’s belly.  “To fuck me?” 

That is not what he meant _at all_ , but the idea is planted in his head now.  Oh gods, Cas’s body would be tight and warm and willing.  His abdomen muscles twitch under Cas’s mouth, and he feels a trickle of precome bead at the tip of his dick.   

Cas notices, and leans back far enough to look down at the clear proof of Dean’s excitement.  Dean half expects him to say something about it, but instead Cas just leans down and laps up the tiny trickle of fluid. 

Dean’s knees go weak, and he would have collapsed to the floor, but Cas’s arms tighten around his hips and guide him back onto the bed with a twist of his torso.  He immediately takes Dean’s dick in his mouth, sucking gently at the head, making Dean shout in surprise. 

His hips flex as he tries to fuck deeper, and his hands go back to their familiar place in Cas’s messy hair.  He whimpers unhappily when Cas shifts to keep him from his goal.   

Dean lifts his head off the bed and glares at the incubus.  “Dammit, Cas.... don’t tease me.” 

Cas meets his glare with a lifted eyebrow.  A challenge.  A dare. 

He’s never been good at turning down a dare.  The last of his resistance falls away, and Dean growls “Suck my cock like you mean it Cas, or get the hell out of my house.” 

Cas’s eyes brighten with delight, and he finally sinks down taking Dean deep enough that his throat is massaging the head of his dick.  His head bobs with a rhythm that brings Dean right to the cusp of orgasm before backing off and just mouthing at the head until the pleasure edges back again, leaving him frustrated and begging for more.  Cas gives it to him, over and over again, but despite the fact that he brings him closer and closer each time, he always stops just before Dean’s body reaches its peak. 

When Cas finally releases his dick with a loud, wet pop, Dean is begging, nearly sobbing with need.  Cas climbs up over Dean’s body, straddling his hips again.  He leans down and breathes into Dean’s mouth.  “Do you want to fuck me, human?” 

The head of Dean’s dick is nestled in the cleft of Cas’s ass, and he bucks his hips up in answer, punctuating the movement with a wordless whine.  Dean has never wanted anything so much in his life.  His hands are tracing over hard muscles, sharp hip bones, and a flat chest, and it feels right under his palms.  As if the body above him was made for his touch.  He knows it’s the venom making him think so, but he doesn’t care.  His mouth seems incapable of forming words, so he nods eagerly. 

Cas reaches between them and takes Dean’s painfully throbbing dick in his hand and guides it to his hole.  He presses down, his body slick and welcoming, but stops.  It would only take one jerk of his hips to bury the head of his dick in Cas’s body, but he is paralyzed by the incubus’s bright blue stare.   

“Please,” Dean whimpers. 

Instead of letting him sink deeper, Cas lifts his hips away.  He swallows Dean’s cry of protest in a rough kiss, flooding him with another dose of venom.   

When he let’s Dean breathe, Cas licks a path to his ear and nibbles on the earlobe before whispering.  “Tell me your Name.” 

“No,” Dean manages on a gasp. 

Cas growls, and it sounds frustrated and needy, and sexy as hell.  “Yes.” 

Chest heaving with suppressed sobs, Dean shakes his head.  As punishment for his resistance the venom burns in his veins, punching a pained breath out of him.  His lips and tongue flex with the urge to give in, but if he voices his name there will be no escape from this creature.   

His skin burns where Cas sucks roughly at the pulsing vein in his neck.  He feels more venom slip into his bloodstream with each heartbeat, but he stubbornly presses his lips together, refusing to speak. 

He almost breaks when Cas leans up and looks at him with such profound disappointment that it affects him like a fist in the solar plexus.  All the air rushes out of him, leaving him aching and hollow inside.   

Cas sits up, and sinks down on Dean’s dick in one swift motion. 

Dean has no breath to shout.  His brain forgets to send signals to his lungs, and his vision starts to go dark around the edges.  His awareness narrows down to the blue of Cas’s eyes and the wet heat gripping his dick.  Virgin tight, but slick like a woman.  He has the vague thought that that's a pretty nifty trick for a sex demon.  Lube not required. 

He finally sucks in a breath when Cas moves in a slow rocking motion.  His hands go to Cas’s hips, and for once the incubus allows himself to be guided.  He meets each of Dean’s thrusts with his own movements, fucking himself down hard and fast even as Dean’s fingers dig into his flesh, silently begging for more. 

Dean’s blood is roaring in his ears, drowning out his own snarls, and Cas’s soft encouragement.  He can’t tear his eyes away from Cas’s.  He watches with detached fascination as the pupils widen from nearly invisible slits to dark ovals. 

His body chases its pleasure with each thrust into Cas’s heat, but it stays just out of reach.  With a frustrated grunt, he flexes, tossing Cas onto his back.  He smirks at the demon’s wide eyed shock, and hooks an elbow under one of his knees to spread him open even further.  Dean grinds his dick into Cas, and a thrill of triumph sings through his blood when a slight shift in the angle of his thrusts causes the incubus’ pupils to blow wide. 

It’s the first sign that Cas is not completely in control, and that is what finally brings Dean’s orgasm boiling up through his spine.  He curses hoarsely, and his hips stutter as he spills deep inside the body flexing below him.   

His head drops between his shoulders, and he shudders as his orgasm drags on with each weakening thrust of his hips.  He can feel exhaustion creeping up on him, but he can’t stop moving.  Just when he thinks the pleasure might start to diminish, Cas clenches around him and his orgasm crests again, juicing another spurt of come out of him.   

When it doesn’t seem to stop any time soon, he tries to pull out, but his arms are shivering under his own weight, and he can’t do any more than collapse on top of Cas.  Strong arms wrap around his rib cage, holding him in place.  He whimpers against Cas’s throat as his body continues to milk Dean’s dick. 

“Cas…” he gasps as a third orgasm shakes his body. “Cas, I can’t…” 

His world spins as Cas flips him on his back, and he yelps as his dick finally slips free.  But he doesn’t have any time to catch his breath because Cas’s hands are spreading his legs, pressing his knees up to his chest, and then a hot tongue is probing at his hole.   

Dean yells and thrashes, trying to escape, but his weakened muscles are no match for Cas’s strength.  Each small movement only allows Cas to press his tongue deeper.   

His venom not only slicks the way, but also relaxes the tight ring of muscle, allowing him to slip two fingers in without any further preparation.  There is no pain, only a delicious stretching feeling that has Dean babbling again, begging for something he doesn’t quite understand.   

Dean has had _a lot_ of sex, but this is new territory for him.  He understands how it works, but only in theory.  It’s something he’s never been interested in trying, but when Cas’s fingers curl inside of him, pressing against a bundle of nerves that he’d never explored before, he finally understands the lure.  His hips come up off the bed, and his dick twitches, a small spurt of semen spreading over his belly as his body valiantly rides out another orgasm. 

His mind is so fogged with heat and need that he barely notices when Cas adds a third finger.  But he sure as fuck notices when those fingers disappear a few minutes later. 

“No!” 

“Calm yourself, human,” Cas murmurs as he looms over Dean and pets a hand through his hair.  “I’ll give you what you need.” 

Dean keens happily when something hot and blunt spears him open, pressing deeper than Cas’s fingers had reached.  His eyes roll back in his head, and his body goes completely limp as Cas fucks into him.   

His dick is no longer hard, but that doesn’t matter at all.  Dean’s blood still sings with ecstasy.   

“Human.”

Dean hums deep in his chest, but can’t muster the energy for more of a response.   

“Human, look at me.” 

He doesn’t want to disobey that rough command, but his eyes don’t seem to want to cooperate.

“Please, human.”  The words are spoken with a soft urgency and damn if he can't find the willpower to resist. 

Finally, Dean forces his eyes to obey, and he opens them fully to see Cas braced above him, body rocking with each rough thrust of his hips.   

Cas’s pupils are blown so wide that Dean can no longer see even a sliver of blue around them.  Sweat drips down his forehead, a single drop sliding down the curve of his nose and trembling at the tip for a moment before gravity asserts its control, and it falls, landing on Dean’s bottom lip.  Cas growls his approval when Dean swipes at it with his tongue. 

It tastes of honey, cloves, and musk.  He wants more. 

“Tell me your name, human,” Cas demands again. 

Despite being exhausted from multiple orgasms, Dean finds shreds of defiance deep inside and pulls them to the fore.  “Why do you want it?” he demands. 

Instead of answering, Cas does the unthinkable and pulls out.  He doesn’t give Dean time to protest, rolling him onto his stomach and grappling him into position so that his face is pressed against the bed, and his ass is in the air.  Cas pushes back into him, echoing Dean’s pleased sigh. 

He braces his fists to either side of Dean’s head and fucks him hard.  Rough enough that Dean worries a little for his safety.  But there is no pain, only burning pleasure.  

He squirms until he can reach between his legs.  He massages his soft dick for a moment, humming happily before running his fingers over his balls and back further.  He spreads his fingers open so Cas is fucking between them.  He bites his bottom lip again, and does his best to clench his muscles around Cas’s cock.  He feels the flex under the pads of his fingers and groans, wondering what he looks like spreading himself open for Cas’s pleasure.

“Tell me your name,” Cas grunts above him, breath hot against the back of Dean’s neck. 

“Tell me yours,” Dean bites back.  He arches his spine as Cas slams into him, sucking in a sharp breath when his whole body jolts with the shock of how good the new angle feels. 

Sharp teeth clamp down on the meat of Dean's shoulder, breaking through the skin, probably a punishment for his defiance.  The searing pain does nothing to diminish Dean's haze of pleasure, and the area around the bite numbs quickly as Cas’s venom enters directly into his bloodstream.   

“Tell me. Your. Name.”  The demand is growled between soothing licks over the wound even as each word is punctuated by a rough thrust of his cock in Dean’s ass. 

“No.” Dean grits out.  He’s getting hard again.  It hurts, but with Cas pounding against that magic place inside him, and the venom in his blood, it’s a good hurt. 

“Stubborn human,” Cas mutters, reluctant admiration coloring his voice.  “I can fuck it out of you.” 

A few hours ago, that threat would have horrified him.  Now, it’s everything Dean wants.  He doesn’t know where the strength comes from, but it floods through his muscles and he shoves himself up so that he’s on his hands and knees.  He twists to look over his shoulder, and grins at Cas’s shocked expression.  He presses his hips back, pushing himself onto Cas’s cock, and grins ferally.  “Do it.” 

Cas’s jaw goes slack, and he doesn’t move for a long second.  But then his teeth click shut, and his eyes narrow with determination.  His strong hands reach for one of Dean’s arms, and with a sudden movement jerks at him until he falls onto his side.  Cas rearranges Dean’s legs so one is propped over the incubus’ shoulder.  The movement had required him to pull out, leaving Dean desperate and empty, but he quickly pushes back in, fucking hard and deep.   

“As you wish,” he pants with a determined glare. 

Dean can do nothing but hold on for the ride.  He loses track of time as Cas moves inside him, sometimes hard and deep, sometimes slow, sometimes teasing him by pulling out all the way and pressing the head of his dick just hard enough against Dean’s ass that it opens up as if begging for more.   

Cas fucks three more orgasms out of him, two of which are dry because his body hasn’t had any time to recover in between.  He can feel his body getting weaker, but his will stays strong.  Every time Cas demands his name, Dean either clamps his lips shut or responds with a snarled denial.   

When Cas’s body begins to tremble against his own, Dean knows he’s won.  The incubus thrusts into him hard, one last time, his body locking up and shuddering as he finally finds his own release.   

Dean throws his head back and a hoarse scream claws its way up his throat.  The venom in Cas’s saliva is nothing compared to his semen.  He feels Cas’s cock jerking inside him, filling him.   

It sears through him, invading every cell, triggering his brain to let loose a flood of endorphins.  He scrabbles at Cas with desperate fingers, trying to pull him closer, wanting more, wanting it all.  Until his awareness finally collapses under the deluge of sensation, and he blacks out. 

He wakes to nails scraping softly against his scalp, and a gruff voice murmuring an unknown language in his ear.  Once again, Cas is wrapped around him. 

Dean's arm tingles because he passed out on top of it, and he shifts with a groan, trying to free it from his own weight despite how utterly drained he feels.  Gentle hands guide him onto his back, and he sighs with relief as blood rushes into his numb fingers.  He wiggles them idly as pins and needles prick the limb.   

“You need water.  And food.”   

Dean opens his eyes to see Cas leaning over him, pupils relaxed into a wide oval, and looking at down at him with concern.   

Smacking his lips together, Dean grimaces at the cottony dryness of his tongue.  His stomach growls as well, speaking up in agreement with Cas’s assessment.  “Sounds good to me,” he manages to grit out once he’s worked some moisture into his mouth.  His voice is raw and scratchy, and when he swallows he can feel a twinge of pain in his throat. 

“Will you stay here while I fetch you a meal?” Cas asks softly, his voice small with uncertainty.   

Dean blinks at him, and frowns in confusion over Cas’s tone.  “I’m not going anywhere, Cas,” he answers after a moment.  He grunts as he tries to shift against the pillows.  “Not sure I could if I wanted to.” 

That doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say, because Cas makes an unhappy noise and leans down to nuzzle Dean’s chest.   

“Hey.”  Dean manages to lift his arm so that he can comb his fingers through Cas’s hair.  A strange tenderness fills him, and he finds himself eager to comfort the incubus.  “What’s wrong?” 

“I should not have used you so hard.”  Cas’s mouth is pressed right next to one of Dean’s nipples, and it pebbles under his breath.  His head turns and his lips brush over it in a gentle kiss.  “Your body needs time to accustom itself to my needs.” 

He should be terrified that Cas seems to be talking about something a little more long term than a day of frantic fucking.  Especially since less than twenty-four hours ago, Dean would have been horrified to imagine himself cuddling with a male demon.  But a thrill goes through Dean at those words.   

He ignores it for now though, because his stomach is growling again, and he feels like he could drink a gallon of water and still feel parched.  “Get me some breakfast, and I’ll forgive you.” 

Cas quickly sits up and turns away.  He strides naked across the room, and disappears through the door.   

It’s a good thing Sam had moved in with his girlfriend a few weeks ago, leaving Dean alone in the house.  The sight of a naked man flouncing through the kitchen probably wouldn’t scar Sam for life, but seeing that man walk out of Dean’s bedroom might. 

He's halfway to falling back to sleep when Cas returns with a plate piled with fluffy scrambled eggs, an empty glass, and a jug of orange juice.  Or what's left of it anyway.  Dean needs to hit the grocery store. 

Cas sets the glass and jug on the bedside table before nudging Dean until he sits up and leans against the wall.  He settles himself on his knees, straddling Dean's legs.  He refuses to hand over the plate when Dean reaches for it.   

"Dude, I thought you brought that for me?"  Dean grouses when Cas slaps his hands away. 

"I did," Cas responds as he forks up a bite and holds it to Dean's lips. 

Dean glares at him.  "I can feed myself."  He holds his hands up, palms out, and wiggles his fingers to prove they work. 

A wrinkle appears between Cas' brows, and his voice is gruff when he speaks.  "Open your mouth, human." 

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Dean decides he's far too hungry to argue.  He opens his mouth and let's Cas place the eggs on his tongue, closing his lips over the fork when Cas pulls it away. He moans as he chews.  The eggs are perfect.  Fluffy and buttery with just a hint of salt.   

He lets Cas feed him three more bites before he feels like addressing this whole feeding thing.  "I didn't know demons could cook," he says with his mouth full.  He doesn't really give a shit about manners, but he also knows Cas'll shove the fork in his mouth again if he swallows before speaking. 

Cas is watching him with a serious concentration that Dean thinks is a little misplaced for the situation.  "There is more to us than stealing and devouring human souls."  One side of his mouth quirks up.  "Not that many warlocks care to find out before they bind us to their will." 

A twinge of guilt makes Dean blush.  He's summoned plenty of demons and spirits, and he's never once asked them anything.  He's always given them orders, then banished them when they were no longer useful to him.  They were nothing more than tools to be used and put away at the end of a project. 

The guilt comes with a rush of defensive anger, and he snatches the fork out of Cas' hand.  "I can do that myself." 

The guilt only grows when Cas gives him a reproachful frown, but Dean ignores it and takes the plate too, nearly spilling it.  He shovels a large bite into his mouth and chews slowly and deliberately.   

Cas sighs, but doesn't move from his perch on Dean's lap.  He still watches intently as if he's not sure Dean can handle the work on his own.  Like he's ready to jump in and help if Dean's hand so much as wobbles.   

When he's almost finished, Dean stops and lifts an eyebrow in question.  "Do you want any?" 

A pleased smile spreads over Cas' features, leaving Dean dazzled by its brightness.  "Thank you for the offer, human, but I have already fed.  I do not require further sustenance at this time." 

Dean shifts his shoulders in a shrug, totally uncomfortable with being watched so intently while he eats.  Since he doesn't seem to have much choice in the matter, he finishes the last of the eggs. 

As soon as he takes the last bite, the plate and fork are plucked out of his hands and Cas shifts just enough to set them on the bedside table and pour a glass of juice.  He tries to hold it to Dean's lips, but Dean is done with being treated like a toddler.  He takes the glass, glaring a warning at the incubus not to interfere. Cas huffs at him but relinquishes control. 

Dean is so thirsty that he drains the glass in just a few short gulps.  He gasps for air and holds the glass out in a request for more since he is still pinned to the bed by Cas' weight.  It seems to please the demon to do things for him if the satisfied smile twitching at Cas' lips is any indication. 

Huh, that's... interesting.  Dean had always been taught that demons never willingly serve.  Everything they do is for their own plans. 

Which just makes Dean wonder why Cas seems so intent on taking care of him.  "Why are you doing this?"  He asks after slurping down his second glass of juice.  He accepts a third one which is only half full because it's all that's left, but he doesn't drink it. 

Cas' slitted eyes flick back and forth between the glass and Dean's face like he's trying to will him to drink it.  "You are dehydrated." 

Which is true.  Between getting drunk off his ass the night before, and literally getting fucked dry - he flinches internally over the fact that he has actually been _fucked_ \- he feels like he's spent a week in the desert.  He's dying to drink the last of his juice, but his belly is uncomfortably full so he's giving it a moment to rest.  But that wasn't the point of his question.  "Why are you-" he gestures at himself with the glass, "-doing this?  I don't need you to take care of me.  Why don't you just fly off to your own dimension or whatever?" 

Cas' pupils constrict so tightly that they nearly disappear in the blue of his irises.  The soft glow that had been washed out by the bright sunlight filtering through the curtains is suddenly visible again as his eyes blaze with an emotion Dean isn't sure how to define.   

"You don't want me here."    

The flat tone Cas uses makes Dean squirm.  An itch rises up under his skin and he just barely restrains himself from flinging his arms around the incubus and begging his forgiveness.  Begging him to stay. 

Dean grinds his teeth against the urge.  It's the lingering venom in his blood that's making him feel like a shitheel for hurting Cas' feelings.  If Cas even really has any feelings.  He's a demon, after all.  And sex demons exist only to feed and breed. 

"No," Dean forces himself to say.  It takes a monumental effort to keep his voice steady.  "I don't want you here." 

Cas regards him for a long moment in which Dean is half afraid he'll attack.  But he only speaks quietly.  "You haven't banished me yet." 

Dean shrugs one shoulder.  "You made me breakfast.  Feels like it would be kinda rude at this point."  But he is ready to speak the words if he needs to, even if the thought makes his blood burn in protest.  A side effect of the venom. 

"Fine," Cas says softly.   

Between one blink and the next, the incubus is gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but if I kept going I was going to end up with like 10k words, so I'm splitting it up. Also a tiny dose of plot! This will have more plot, but also a lot more porn.

Dean is startled by the sudden lack of weight on his lap, and he jerks slightly, eyes darting around to every corner of the room, as if Cas might have just flitted off to sulk in the shadows.  But the room is empty.  Cas has apparently decided to fuck off to whatever realm he came from and finally leave Dean alone. 

He should be relieved, ecstatic even.  He’s really fucking lucky that Cas never got him to admit his name, otherwise he could have totally ended up a slave to the demon.  But instead of relief, Dean’s heart sinks.  The eggs he consumed sit heavy in his belly, and the orange juice burns bitterly on the back of his tongue.   

Running a hand over his face, Dean leans over and sets the glass on the table next to the empty plate.  He wiggles until he’s lying down, wincing at the burn of overworked muscles and abused tendons.  He tries not to think of the ache between his legs, or what it’s going to be like to try and sit for the next few days.   

God, his ass is sore.  He’s never even taken a finger before, but now he knows intimately what it feels like to be fucked into the mattress.  A mortified flush burns under his skin as he remembers how he’d whined and moaned and demanded more as Cas had thrust into him.     

“Never again,” he mutters as he settles into a nest made of pillows and blankets with his back pressed against the cool wall.   

No more drunk summonings.  No more sex demons, _ever._  And no more dicks up his ass.  If he has his way there will be no more dicks at all, period.  

His eyes slip closed, and despite the fact that he’s only been awake for maybe a few hours, he feels exhaustion pressing down on him.  Sleep doesn’t come however.  His skin tingles and burns, and he has to resist the urge to scratch at it.   

A shower might help, but just as he’s thinking about it, he’s startled by a knock on his bedroom door.  Ah fuck, he’d forgotten that Sam was supposed to come over.  His brother has a key to the apartment, and would have just let himself in. 

"What?" He croaks with all the indignant anger he can muster.   

The door opens just enough for Sam's shaggy head to poke through.  He eyes Dean cautiously.  "Just checking to make sure you're alive in here." 

If Dean didn't feel like such a steaming pile of shit, he might have thrown some kind of cantrip in his brother's direction.  Nothing major; something to singe his eyebrows, or maybe turn his ridiculous hair blue. But all he manages is a bloodshot glare in his direction. 

Sam isn't impressed.  He scoots further into the room, revealing a mug nestled between his palms.  Coffee scented steam curls up from the contents, and Dean perks up. 

He pushes himself back into a sitting position as Sam crosses the space to the bed, ignoring the twinge of discomfort when his weight settles on his ass.  His eyes are glued to the coffee cup, so he misses the wide eyed surprise on Sam's face.  He snatches the coffee and buries his nose in the steam.  Just inhaling the scent clears away some of his muzziness.  He lets out a happy noise when he takes his first sip.  Orange juice and eggs had filled his belly, but there was always room for coffee. 

When he finally looks up at Sam, his brother is blushing brightly, and very carefully not looking at him.  Dean frowns, and demands "What?" 

Squirming, and blushing even harder, Sam gestures around the room and then at Dean.  "Uh, I guess you had a guest last night."   

Dean's eyes follow Sam's, first to the smudged summoning circle, then down to his own bare chest.  Hickies ring the flesh around his nipples which are dark and swollen from- 

"Shit!" He yelps when he remembers just how he received those marks.  He jerks his blanket up to cover his chest, spilling a little coffee in his haste.   

Sam isn't even trying to hide his amusement.  “Wow, so now I understand Charlie’s drunk texts from last night.  Summoning a sex demon, huh?”  He makes a vague gesture at Dean, then repeats it on himself, indicating the area around his neck and ears.  “Looks like that succubus was hungry.  She must have been trying to eat you." 

Dean is confused for a moment before he realizes that Sam wouldn't know that Dean's "guest" had been an incubus, not a succubus.  He relaxes slightly, but still keeps the blanket pulled up.  "Yeah, ha ha, get out," he grumbles sullenly. 

Sam backs toward the door, still grinning.  "I’ll uh… just go hang out in the living room while you get dressed," he says before he slips out the door, and out of range of Dean's ability to smite him. 

When the door clicks shut, Dean drops the blanket and scrambled out of bed.  There is a full length mirror hanging inside his closet door, and he heads for it now.  What he sees in the reflection makes him wince.  In addition to the purpling marks around his nipples, there are mouth shaped marks circling his neck and shoulders, and the very clear shape of teeth stamped into his shoulder where Cas bit him.   

" _Fuck me_." 

His fingers hover just over the marks, tracing them without touching.  His memories are hazed by alcohol and demon venom, but he remembers enough that his body, and more specifically his dick, perks up despite the fact that he’d had at least five orgasms in the last eight hours.  He bares his teeth and growls at his reflection, willing his hard on back down. 

It doesn't work. 

"Oh hell no," he grits out.  If he's going to get horny, it won't be because of that damn incubus.  Closing his eyes, he deliberately pictures a woman mouthing at his body.  Dark hair, blue eyes - no! He redirects, imagining blond hair and brown eyes.  Someone tiny and curvy, with bouncy tits and- 

And his erection immediately flags.   

His eyes pop open and he stares at his reflection with a suspicious scowl.  He's not sure why that mental image turned him off, but he's willing to accept that instead of sporting wood because of an encounter with a male sex demon. 

When he catches sight of the dried come in his pubes, he wrinkles his nose.  A shower is definitely required.  Especially if he’s going to be socializing.  He doesn’t see Sam as often since he started school, and Dean’s determined to spend time with him today despite the fact that his sore body is screaming in protest for him to go back to bed and wallow in his misery and embarrassment. 

He grabs some underwear and a t-shirt and soft jeans from his bureau, but hesitates before leaving his room.  Normally he'd have no problem parading buck ass naked in front of Sam, even if he is sporting a hickey or two, but today he grabs a bathrobe before leaving his room. 

Sam is sprawled on the couch reading one of Dean’s many spellbooks while idly twirling a small fireball between the fingers of his free hand.  He smirks over the top of the book when Dean slinks from his room to the bathroom, chuckling when Dean waves a middle finger at him before slipping out of his sight again. 

Dean avoids his reflection in the mirror as he drops his robe to the floor and steps into the shower.  He cranks the temperature of the water up and stands with his head bowed under the spray, letting it beat the tension out of his neck and shoulders.  He inhales the steam and sighs it out when he feels the itch under his skin that had been creeping up on him since Cas disappeared mellow into a warm tingle.  He hopes it will disappear completely as soon as the venom works its way completely out of his system.   

He grabs the soap and starts a lather between his palms before running them over his skin.  He hisses when he discovers how tender his nipples are.  Cas really did a number on him. 

Despite the discomfort, his hands linger on his chest, sliding down to run over the swollen nubs.  His eyes slip closed and the memory of Cas' tousled head hovering over him as he kissed and licked and nibbled rises to the surface of his mind.  He gets caught up in it, forgetting to try and imagine a woman in the demon's place. 

When the gentle swipe of his soapy fingers isn't enough anymore, Dean pinches one lightly.  He sucks in a shocked breath when pleasure blossoms from the touch, and his other hand drops down to wrap around his hardening dick.  Only a few strokes bring him to full mast.   

He jacks himself slowly, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, and squeezing the head tightly.  The tingling under his skin turns into a pleasurable buzz under the sting of the water beating against it and he turns under the spray so that it's pouring down over his chest, rinsing the soap away even as it stimulates his nipples. It's not quite as good as Cas' tongue, but it's hot and slick and it frees his other hand to drop down to cup and fondle his balls. 

His climax punches the air out of his chest when it finally hits, and it takes him almost a full minute before he's able to stand up straight without leaning a shoulder against the cold tiles of the wall for support.  He opens his eyes, blinking water out of his lashes.  A look down at his body makes him grimace at himself in disgust for getting off on what that demon did to him.   

His balls ache, and he curses quietly.  Hopefully he isn't doing permanent damage to himself.  He's had marathon sex before, but he's pretty sure he's never had so many orgasms in such a short span of time.   

He finishes the rest of his shower quickly, and gets out.  It's not until he's toweled his hair dry and swiped a hand through the condensation on the mirror that he remembers calling out a name when he was coming.   

_Cas._

He punches the mirror, both out of rage and to block the sight of Cas' marks on his body.  He regrets it immediately when he feels blood well up from the damaged skin around his knuckles. 

A knock on the door startles him.  Sam's voice is muffled by the wood.  "Everything ok in there?" 

"Yeah," Dean grunts as he spreads his palm over the cracked mirror, hiding several versions of his reflection.   _Seven years bad luck.  Great._ It takes very little effort to channel a stream of magic into the cracks to heal them back together.  "Just peachy." 

And if that’s a lie right now, he knows that pretty soon it’ll be the truth.  He’s never going to see Cas again, and he can just put last night’s drunken sexcapade behind him.  

He ignores the bile that burns the back of his throat at that thought. 

His eyes fall on the bite mark on his shoulder.  The area around the it is swollen, but it looks clean and has already scabbed over.  He should probably disinfect it though.  He has no idea what kind of cooties Cas might have passed to him through the bite. 

In fact, he should probably go see a healer.  As he digs out his first aid kit and lays out what he needs, he can still feel the energizing buzz of Cas' venom under his skin.  Prolonged exposure can't be good for him, but he's not really looking forward to talking to anyone about what happened.  And it's something he knows better than to try hiding from a healer. 

He winces as he dabs the wound with gauze doused in rubbing alcohol.  Damn, the bite is pretty deep.  He covers it with a bandage and then pulls on his clothing.  The collar of his t-shirt doesn't quite cover it, and he casts a small concealment spell over it.  The spell won't hide it from Sam unfortunately since he's the one who taught Dean how to do it, but most people's eyes will slide away from the spot without notice. 

When he leaves the bathroom, Sam puts the book aside, and makes room on the couch for Dean.  His eyes fall on the bandage peeking out from under Dean's shirt collar and narrow.  "What's that?" He demands as Dean plops down on the cushions next to him. 

Dean just barely holds back a hiss of discomfort when he sits.  Not just because his as still aches, but because the sudden pressure sends the signal straight to his dick.  Only the fact that he's now sitting hides his half-chubby from his brother.   

He slants a quick glare at Sam before flicking his fingers at the tv in a small spell to turn it on.  "What's what?" He asks in what he knows is a futile attempt at playing dumb.  He picks up a game controller and holds it out to Sam.  "Racing game or shooter?" 

Of course the deflection didn't work.  Sam ignored the controller and reached out to pull at Dean's t-shirt.  "What did you do to yourself?" 

Dean leans away and covers the bite mark with his hand.  "It's nothing, dude, let it go." 

Sam gives him glare that is half exasperation and half threat.  " _Dean_." 

Even though he knows Sam didn't thread any magic into his voice, Dean can't actually resist that particular tone of _talk to me you fucking moron._ "It's a bite," he mutters.  He shakes the controller in Sam's direction, hoping he'll let it go and they can get their game on. 

No such luck.  Sam practically shoots up from the couch, and looms over Dean.  " _What?_  A bite from what?"  When Dean doesn't answer, Sam puts it together in his own.  "The succubus _bit you?"_

It hasn't worked so far but Dean tries the silence trick again.  He turns his attention to the tv, and starts loading up the racing game. 

"Dean!" Sam's incredulous shout is accompanied by flailing arms.  "I may not know as much about demon summoning as you do, but I'm pretty sure getting bitten by a succubus is a big fucking deal!" 

Shrugging uncomfortably, Dean keeps his eyes on the screen and flips through his car options.  "It's nothing Sam.  Just a way to shoot me up with an aphrodisiac."  And _fuck_ if it hadn't felt good. 

"You need to go see a healer, Dean." 

Which is true, of course.  But Dean's mile-wide stubborn streak rears its ugly head in response to Sam's tone.  He glares up at his brother.  "It's _fine_ , Sam.  Leave it alone."  He jiggles the controller at Sam again. 

After a long moment of intense scrutiny, Sam finally sighs and swipes the controller out of Dean's hand.  He sits down with a huff of annoyance, and glares at the tv.  "I'd rather play a shooter." 

Dean rolls his eyes, but gets up to switch out the game.   

Making it through the day is a lot more difficult than Dean expects.  His hangover is easily cured with one of Sam's potions, and he has nowhere to be so he can fuck around all day if he wants.  The problem is that he means that figuratively, but his body wants it in the literal sense.  He's so horny that it takes all his willpower not to sneak back to his room to jack off constantly.   

If Sam weren't giving him the occasional suspicious look, he would have.  He nearly asks Sam to go back to his own place a few times, but guilt holds him back.  Sam is so busy with his studies that they haven't been able to just hang out in a few weeks. 

Unfortunately, his brother is far too perceptive.  When Dean squirms in his seat, or rubs his palms over his limbs, Sam glares at him.  He doesn't bring up the subject of a healer again, but he doesn't have to.  Dean already knows what Sam is thinking, but he's not going to do anything about it. 

As much as he loves hanging out with his brother, it’s a relief when Sam tosses down his controller and announces he needs to get home.  Dean makes all the appropriate noises of complaint, but they’re only half-hearted.  At least Sam doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he keeps his trap shut about it.  He promises to call during the week and keep Dean updated on how his studies are going, and then he’s gone. 

When Dean is finally, blissfully alone, he starts stripping his shirt off on the way to his room.  He's got a skin mag and a bottle of lube calling his name. 

He tosses the shirt in the general direction of the hamper and fumbles at buttons on his fly.  He's so intent on getting naked that he doesn't immediately register the scent of honey and cloves.  When he drops his pants to the floor a low growl from the direction of his bed makes his head jerk up in surprise. 

"You're even more beautiful with my marks upon your skin." 

Cas is stretched out on Dean's bed, once again without a stitch of clothing to hide his body, or the fact that he's hard, and casually stroking his dick like he's waiting patiently for Dean to come over and do something with it. 

Dean's mouth begins to water at the sight, which pisses him the fuck off.  "What the hell are you doing here?" 

The incubus bares his teeth in a sly smile.  "I am here because you've been calling to me all day.  I would have come earlier, but I assumed you would appreciate it if your other guest left first." 

"I have _not_ been calling you," Dean growls, silently denying the fact that he's been kinda missing Cas all day.  He jabs a finger in Cas' direction.  "You need to go back to whatever Hell dimension you came from before I send you by force." 

Cas raises one dark brow, but doesn't make any move to leave.  "Will you?" 

The low rumble of his voice sends fire through Dean's veins, and he locks his knees against the urgent need to stumble over to the bed to join the incubus.  Through gritted teeth he starts to recite an exorcism. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundis spiritus, omnis-"_  

In between one breath and the next, Cas is no longer on the bed.  He's crowding against Dean's chest, the hard length of his arousal pressing into Dean's hip and smearing precome against his skin, and his mulled wine scent filling the air around them.  Dean's words stutter to a stop and instead of trying to back away from the sudden invasion of his personal space, he goes still, his mouth hanging open in surprise. 

It's dark enough in the room that he can see the soft blue glow of Cas' strange eyes.  The pupils are tight slivers of black at the center, and Dean can't look away.  He feels like a mouse caught in the hypnotizing stare of a predator. 

"Human," Cas breathes softly, his sweet scent filling Dean's mouth and nose.  "Do you truly want me to leave?" 

Every breath Dean takes causes their chests to rub against each other, and to his horror he realizes his body is responding to that small stimulation.  His nipples peak, and goose bumps chase each other down the sides of his ribcage.  His dick is already hard and aching and pressed alongside Cas' between them. 

The thing is… he doesn’t want Cas to leave.  Not really.  At least his body doesn’t want Cas to go anywhere but back on the bed, even though his brain is screaming protests left and right.  Mostly to the tune of _YOU ONLY DIG CHICKS AND CAS IS A DUDE._    

He keeps his jaws clamped tight because he's not sure if when he speaks it will be a demand for freedom or a desperate whine for Cas to stay.  So he settles on glaring at the incubus, letting his expression speak for him. 

Cas' pupils relax into an oval and he bares his teeth in a pleased smile.  His fingers come up to drag along the two days of stubble lining Dean's jaw.  "So lovely in your defiance." 

It takes everything Dean has not to lean into the touch. 

"Well?" Cas leans up until his lips nearly brush Dean's.  "Are you still going to send me away?" 

A shudder wracks Dean's body. Against his will, his lips part and he pulls in a breath, the scent of honey and cloves and sex coat the back of his tongue as it slides into his lungs.  The next words of the exorcism hover behind his teeth. 

He hesitates too long to speak them.  The cloud of pheromones surrounding him steals away his reason, and with a groan he closes the tiny gap between their lips.   


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. It takes a certain mindset for me to write smut, and holy crap there's A LOT OF SMUT in this story, so I can only work on it when my brain wants to cooperate. Oh, and I typed up a lot of this using Swype, so if you see a weird word that doesn't seem to make sense, feel free to point it out. I _think_ I caught everything, but I am not having anyone beta read this, so I'm sure I missed something. Probably several somethings.
> 
> Warning in this chapter for blood-play.

Cas makes a pleased sound and opens to Dean's tongue, letting him taste the sweetness of his venom straight from the source.  It seeps into Dean's bloodstream almost immediately, and the last of his resistance crumbles.  He wraps his arms around Cas, and pulls him close, reveling in the press of their skin. 

He's barely aware of the way his body starts grinding against the incubus.  His hips flex forward, and he hums happily at the friction of his dick dragging against the lightly haired skin of Cas' belly.  His hands drop from Cas' back to the globes of his ass, his fingers kneading the flesh in rhythm with the thrust of his hips. 

Cas whispers against his lips, and in the haze of his lust Dean doesn't understand the words.  A soft tug at his hair makes him growl in protest, but Cas' fingers tighten and force him to lift his head.  He meets the blue glow of Cas' eyes, snarling in protest at the loss of contact between their mouths. 

"Easy, human," Cas soothes.  His fingers relax in Dean's hair and his nails scrape softly over his tingling scalp as if in apology for the abuse.  "Tell me what you want." 

"You," Dean answers gruffly before trying to capture Cas' lips again.  He needs to taste them, to sip at their sweetness.  His efforts to resume the kiss are rebuffed when Cas wraps his hand around Dean's jaw and he's held gently, but firmly, in place.  Distantly he's horrified at himself for being so far under the venom's influence, but it is minor next to his frustration over being thwarted. 

"You have me, human," Cas says soothingly.  His thumb brushes tenderly over Dean's stubble, and he smiles when Dean leans into the touch, the smug bastard.  He knows that Dean's will is failing.  He knows he's winning.  "Tell me how you want me to please you." 

Confusion wrinkles Dean's brow.  Isn't this about the demon's pleasure?  Dean is the one currently under the influence of a powerful drug which he can feel urging him to drop to his knees and beg Cas to command him.  He’s honestly not sure what’s kept him on his feet so far.  "You... want to please _me_?" 

A low, rumbling purr accompanies Cas' nod.  His eyes flick back and forth as he stares intently up at Dean.   

Dean's fingers flex hard, pulling Cas' ass cheeks apart. 

"You want my hole?" Cas whispers. 

That wasn't what Dean was thinking, but now that Cas had brought it up... He nods vigorously.  The idea of sliding his aching dick into the slick clench of Cas’ ass nearly has him salivating with need. 

Cas let's go of his jaw and runs his fingers up into Dean's hair again.  He resumes the gentle scratching against his scalp.  "Tell me." 

Dean's tongue flicks out over his lips, capturing the thin layer of venom coating them from Cas’ kiss.  "I want your hole, Cas." 

The words make Cas' pupils widen.  "You may have it." He leans up and speaks the next words directly into Dean's mouth.  "Use your tongue to get it ready for your cock." 

For a split second Dean's mind recoils.  He’s perfectly happy between a woman’s thighs, tonguing her pussy and following the trail of her slick juices as they drip past his chin.  But for a man?  He’s never… 

Well, he’s never done anything at all with a man until Cas. 

Probably assuming Dean is thinking too hard, which he definitely _is_ , Cas leans up and swipes his tongue over Dean’s lips.  The pink tip of it dips into his mouth, giving him a fresh taste of honeyed venom.   

It’s just enough to chase away Dean’s anxiety.  He crowds against Cas, using his slightly larger bulk to herd the incubus toward the bed.  Cas moves easily, willingly, making soft sounds of encouragement which may or may not be actual words.  Dean can’t really tell at this point because his mind is so fogged with lust. 

When Cas’ legs hit the bed, he collapses back onto it, helped along by Dean’s hand in the center of his chest pushing him down into a prone position.  He cups his other hand under one of Cas’ knees, pushing it up against his chest, and looks down at the tight pucker he wants so badly to fuck.   

It glistens wetly, and he chuckles in a moment of clarity and glances up at Cas who is watching him curiously.  “Self lubrication must be so convenient.” 

Cas’ teeth flash in an amused smile.  “You are a warlock, are you not?  You should know what my kind is built for.” 

“Oh yeah, I know,” Dean murmurs.  He presses the pad of his thumb up under Cas’ balls, lifting the sack so he can get a better view.  Cas’ pubic hair thins past his perineum leaving nearly bare skin around his hole.  The muscles flutter invitingly as Dean hesitates again. 

It’s one thing to allow Cas to rim him into oblivion, but this…this will count as Dean's surrender.  This will be Dean’s silent admission that he wants what is happening.  Because nothing says _I’m into it_ like sticking your tongue in someone’s ass. 

He runs his eyes slowly up the length of Cas’ body, lingering on the red swell of his dick, and the flat planes of his chest.  When he meets Cas’ eyes, he sees no hint of challenge or demand.  Merely desire and patience.   

It feels too intimate to hold his gaze though, so Dean looks away and down, back to his goal.  Cas wants his tongue, he’ll give it to him.  With a bracing breath, and something almost like a silent prayer for courage, he ducks down between Cas’ legs and swipes the flat of his tongue through the slick between his ass cheeks. 

Dean moans.  Gods, Cas tastes divine.  Honey and cloves and sex and the salty tang of skin all compete for dominance over Dean’s tastebuds.  He licks again, and smacks his lips together as he savors Cas’ sweetness.   

He repeats the motion several times until Cas’ skin is damp only with Dean’s saliva, and then he finally presses the tip of his tongue against Cas’ hole, searching for more of his addictive taste.  The feel of muscle squeezing around his tongue before opening to welcome him in is strange, yet fucking hot as Hell.  Dean presses deeper and deeper, chasing Cas’ flavor, until his nose is pressed into Cas’ skin, and he whimpers when he realizes he can’t go any further. 

Fingers stroke over his forehead and into his hair.  “Shh, human.  Stay calm.  I will give you what you need.” 

With gentle tugs, Cas guides Dean so that he’s slowly tongue fucking his hole.  It’s not long before Dean no longer needs the touch to encourage him, but he loves the feel of fingers in his hair nonetheless.   

Above him, Cas is speaking.  “Yes, gods, yes.  Your beautiful mouth.   _Beautiful_ mouth.”  His hips start up a rhythm against Dean’s face.  “I’m so slick for you, do you taste it?” 

Dean hums an affirmative, and licks deeper.  A sharp tug at his hair stops him, and he looks up in confusion.  Cas pulls again, and Dean reluctantly sits back on his heels. 

“Do not look so forlorn, human,” Cas says gently.  “I merely wish to make sure your pleasure is not being neglected.” 

Interrupting him from sipping more of Cas’ honeyed slick is definitely not contributing to Dean’s pleasure.  “Cas…” he says in a low warning. 

Cas wriggles away from him, closer to the center of the bed.  His fingers are still curled in Dean’s hair, pulling him along until he crawls up onto the mattress, still between Cas’ spread thighs.  “Come here,” Cas orders.  “Come kneel over my face.” 

Dean doesn't always make the best decisions (see: summoning a sex demon while drunk off his ass), but never let it be said that he's a complete idiot.  He knows what that position is going to allow Cas to do to him, and Dean's dick, which is hard and leaking and currently getting _no attention_ , is happily on board with Cas' idea.  He lets Cas guide him with light touches and soft commands until he's braced on his hands and knees over the incubus.   

His face is now hovering directly over Cas' dick, and he licks his lips at the sight of the shiny trail of precum dribbling down the shaft.  Never in his life has he wanted to put a dick anywhere near his face, much less in his mouth, but right now it seems like the best idea in the world.  Ducking his head, he licks from the head of Cas' dick to his balls, following the sweet wet trail. 

Cas hums his approval.  "That feels lovely, human.  But you said you wanted my hole." 

Dean freezes, and whimpers.  "I do." 

"You need to finish opening it up for this pretty cock."  He emphasises his words by pressing a kiss to the tip of Dean's dick. 

Dean's breath is coming in short pants now.  His whole body is screaming with indecision.  His lips and tongue burn and tingle like he's been making out with a ghost pepper, and he knows instinctively that the only relief will come from Cas' slick.  But he can't decide between which source he wants more.  And on top of that his thighs are trembling with the need to thrust, to push his aching dick into something.  He wants to fuck.  Either into the wet heat of Cas' mouth or the sinfully tight squeeze of his ass. 

He leans his face against Cas' thigh.  The skin feels cool against his flushed cheek.  "I... Cas, I..."  He trails off with an anguished sound that would embarrass the fuck out of him if he were thinking with anything close to clarity.   

Large warm hands stroke soothingly over the backs of his thighs.  "Shhh, it's alright.  You can suck me, and use your fingers on my hole." 

A soft sob rips out of his chest at having the decision made for him.  He immediately moves back to Cas' dick which already has another large pearl of precum oozing from the tip.  He laps at it eagerly, then takes the head into his mouth and begins to suck.  The burning in his mouth is instantly soothed and his limbs nearly give out with relief.  The only thing that keeps him from sprawling like a bundle of wet noodles over Cas' body is a hand pressing into the junction of his thighs, holding him up with supernatural strength.  Cas' fingers close around the base of his dick and balls like a cock ring, and Dean wants to protest, but his mouth is busy. 

"Human... Use your fingers."   

Cas rolls his hips up, shoving his dick against the back of Dean's throat.  Deep enough that it should probably gag him, but there may be something in the precome Dean is eagerly swallowing down that keeps his throat open and relaxed.   

Unable to do anything other than obey, Dean braces himself on one elbow.  The position forces Dean to pretty much constantly deepthroat Cas (and isn’t that a new and interesting sensation), but it also frees his other hand.  His eyes aren't focusing very well so he lets them slide shut, and he searches out Cas' hole by touch alone.   

Cas’ mouth wraps around Dean’s dick just as he slides a finger into Cas’ ass.  He whimpers around the cock in his own mouth, no longer sucking, but just holding the weight of it on his tongue and swallowing every now and then as precome dribbles down the back of his throat.  When Cas starts a slow rhythm, Dean matches it, adding a second finger after a few minutes. 

He gets so lost in the feel of Cas in his mouth, and the wet heat surrounding his dick and fingers, that his mind just kind of fuzzes out.  His body feels like it’s rocking gently, but he doesn’t know if that’s real, or if he’s just high from venom.   

All the aches and pains he’s been suffering throughout the day fade into the background, except for a persistent throbbing in his shoulder where Cas bit him.  It pulses with his heartbeat, and if he were at all clear headed he’d worry about that.  But now it’s just one more sensation adding to his arousal.   

He can feel his climax building slowly, and he rocks his hips down into Cas’ mouth.  When his dick nudges the back of of the demon’s throat, Dean let’s out a soft keen as his balls begin to pulse, and his orgasm swells through him. 

Compared to every orgasm he’s had since Cas first stepped out of the containment circle and began rocking his world, this one is almost gentle.  It’s not so overwhelming that it pulls his attention away from the dick in his mouth, or the tight ass clenching around his knuckles.  

His dick starts to soften, and Cas let’s it slip out of his mouth.  Dean moans at the loss, and lifts his head to look over his shoulder, finally letting go of Cas’ dick as well.  His mouth feels oddly empty, and he runs the tip of his tongue over the edge of his top teeth in discomfort.  “Cas,” he says softly.  “I wanted to fuck you.” 

“You will, human,” Cas responds.  His hands are gently massaging Dean’s ass cheeks, squeezing them together, then spreading them wide until the skin stretches uncomfortably tight.  His breath is hot against Dean’s soft dick and balls, as he speaks.   

A thumb brushes over Dean’s hole and he hisses.  Despite using liberal amounts of slick saliva with its magical numbing properties, Dean’s asshole is still sore from being fucked hard and long that morning.  “Cas, don’t-” he cuts off with a whimper when the thumb presses in a little and tugs at his rim.   

Cas’ tongue joins his thumb, spreading his saliva, and relieving most of Dean’s discomfort.  Unconsciously, Dean starts fucking Cas' hole with his fingers again.  Somehow, he's up to four, and distantly he thinks Cas should be ready for him now, but the tongue lapping at his own rim is distracting him.   

He lets the muscles in his shoulders relax and rests the weight of his upper body on Cas' belly.  His cheek is pillowed in the junction of his thigh, and Cas's dark pubic hair tickles his cheek.  He is completely unaware of the happy noises rumbling up from deep in his chest.  All he feels is the gentle lap of Cas' tongue soothing away the ache and burn that had been plaguing him all day.  The fire roaring in his veins fade to a warm simmer, and he thinks he could be content to let Cas continue licking him for hours.  Even when he feels his dick start to harden again, he doesn't feel the same urgent need to fuck that had been driving him before. 

He whimpers in protest when Cas' mouth moves away from his ass, leaving him feeling cold and exposed.  A warm hand pets over his flank as if reassuring a nervous animal. 

"It is time, human." 

Dean's eyes had drifted closed, but now they pop open, fixing immediately on Cas' hard dick less than an inch from his nose.  "Time?" He echoes in confusion. 

A finger pokes him in the hip, making him shimmy away in surprise.  "I'm ready for your cock." 

 _Oh yeah._ And just like that, the urgency flames back up under his skin.  He rolls off Cas, bouncing lightly on his back on the mattress.  His fingers slide free with a squelch that shouldn't be hot, but it totally is.  They're dripping with Cas' slick, and Dean wraps them around his dick, spreading the slippery fluid all over his shaft. 

Cas sits up and watches him with amusement dancing in his slitted eyes.  "Do you wish me to ride you again?" 

The idea had its appeal, but that position gives Cas all the control, and right now Dean doesn't have the patience to allow the demon to set the pace.  Shaking his head, he surges up from the mattress to a kneeling position.  "Hands and knees," he growls as he grabs Cas by the hips and roughly manoeuvres him into place.   

Cas goes willingly, arching his back in a graceful curve that presents his ass in eager invitation.  He turns a coy look over his shoulder, lifting a brow in silent question.   _Is this what you want?_  

"Hell fucking yeah,"  Dean says out loud.  In less than a few heart beats, he's behind Cas, holding him in place with a hand on his hip.  With his free hand he guides the head of his dick to Cas' slick hole, and he clamps his teeth over his bottom lip to stifle a groan when the head disappears inside.  Fuck, how can he still be so tight? 

Cas makes a low purring sound and presses his hips back to force Dean deeper, impaling himself completely.  Sweatt glistens in the arc of his spine, and Dean can't resist the urge to bend down over his body and slide his tongue over the rushes of his vertebrae. 

The action pushes him deeper, and Cas hisses what sounds like a curse in his own language.  Dean grins against Cas' skin.  If he remembers his demonic linguistics correctly from college, he'd say Cas is certainly enjoying himself.  There's not a direct translation, but _oh fuck yes fuck_ about covers the gist of it. 

Suddenly feeling a lot more in control of himself and the situation, Dean bites the edge of Cas' shoulder blade.  Not hard enough to break the skin, but assuming demons bruise as easily as humans, there'll definitely be a mark.  At the same time, he pulls his hips back and slams back in as hard as he can.   

To his delight, Cas makes a low keening sound and presses back.  So he likes it rough, huh?  Dean can do that.  He begins a punishing pace, one that he would normally worry might be painful, but the way Cas shoves himself back on every thrust of Dean's cock in his ass reassures him that the demon is totally into it.   

Cas mutters something in Demonic that Dean can't quite make out over the slap of skin on skin and the blood pounding in his own ears.  In fact, he barely registers the words until Cas repeats himself.  Dean is too close to the edge to concentrate on translating.  "Use English for the mortals, Cas,"  He grunts.  He shoves his dick deep, and grins their hips together.  Fuck, the tight wet heat of Cas' channel squeezing his dick could get real addictive, real fast. 

He refuses to acknowledge that it may be too late. 

"Teeth," Cas pants as he reaches a hand back to grab Dean's flank and hold him in place.  "Use your teeth, human..." 

Unable, and even unwilling to disobey, Dean doesn't even hesitate to lean down and dig his teeth into Cas' skin again, this time on the other side of his spine, because even in his crazy pheromone induced sex-haze, he wants to see symmetry in the marks he leaves behind. 

As soon as his teeth sink into flesh, something in the air changes.  The fog of honey and cloves that Dean sucks in with every raw breath leaves a new tang on the back of his tongue.  It cranks his lust up to eleven, but it's different now.   

Despite his own desperate need to come, Dean wants to make Cas lose it.  The last time they fucked, Dean was nearly out of his mind with ecstasy, and he really really wants to give Cas a taste of his own damn medicine.   

Tightening his jaw until a hint of copper joins honey and cloves, Dean reaches around Cas' body, running his palm over his ribs, and stopping to pluck roughly at a nipple for a brief moment before sliding back down over flexing muscles.  He follows a thickening trail of hair until the tips of his fingers bury themselves in the coarse hair at the base of Cas' dick.  He cups the demons balls, rolling them gently between his fingers. 

It's an odd experience, to say the least, since his only experience is doing this to himself.  But Cas is making soft noises of pleasure, so Dean figures he's doing something right.  He continues grinding their hips together, changing the angle every so often without ever pulling out for a thrust.  After a few moments he can tell what angles Cas likes best by the way his fingers tighten on Dean's flank.

That's probably going to leave some bruises, but at the moment Dean is almost lost enough in the pleasure of Cas' body, that he actually wishes for more marks from his mate- 

His mind shies away from that immediately, and he's distracted further when Cas shifts under him, dropping his hand from Dean's body do he can reach down and stroke himself.  Dean growls, bites down harder in warning and knocks his hand away.  The soft whimper he receives in response makes dark satisfaction coil tightly inside him, driving him closer to his own release. 

His hind brain wails in protest.  His ma- _lover_ must be taken care of first.  He raises his hand and holds it in front of Cas' mouth.  The demon doesn't hesitate to lap at Dean's palm, making his skin drip with venom-laced spit.  The soft drag of velvet tongue is difficult to pull away from, but Dean has a goal that he can't delay. 

When he takes Cas' hard dick in his hands, they both groan.  Dean's jaw tightens on Cas' shoulder and rests more of his weight on the demon's back.   

Cas compensates for the weight by dropping his free hand to the mattress, and uses the leverage to fuck himself back against Dean's cock then forward into his fist.  Dean doesn't even have to move because Cas is doing all the work. 

That isn't right.  Dean starts changing the pressure of his grip at random, and every so often twisting his wrist.  It must have the intended effect, because Cas starts making desperate noises deep in his throat. 

And then his hips buck one last time and go still.  Dean feels Cas' dick swell in his fist for a brief second before hot semen spills over his hand.  Cas' whole body begins to tremble, and the scent of cloves and honey thickens the air.  Dean has a split second to think _ha! got a taste of your own medicine!_ before the pulse of Cas' body around Dean's dick drags him over the edge too and all his brain functions outside the pleasure centers shut down. 

When he finally comes around, Cas has collapsed on the bed with Dean a boneless weight on top of him.  He can't possibly be comfortable, especially with Dean's hand pinned under his hips, still holding his softening dick in a come-slick fist.  But Dean blinks in surprise when he realizes the deep rumble coming from the hot body beneath him sounds like... 

"Cas?"  His lips are smashed against the bloody skin of the demon's shoulder blade, so he's not sure if his words are clear enough to be understood, but he doesn't have the energy to lift his head.  "Are you purring?" 

His only answer is an increase in the rumble's volume. 

Dean grins, and rubs his face against Cas' skin, aware that he's probably smearing blood over his lips, and that he should probably be disturbed by that since he does _not_ have a blood kink.  But his lips tingle pleasantly, and the sweet coppery flavor spreading over his tongue when he licks them only makes him want to nuzzle closer.  Without conscious thought, he starts lapping at the wound. 

On the second swipe of his tongue, Cas' ass spasms around Dean's half hard dick, making him hiss and roll away, flopping onto his back next to the demon.  He's overly sensitive at the moment, and that felt nice, but with a huge helping of _too much too soon_ on the side. 

In a blink, Cas is curled against his side, nuzzling his nose up under Dean's jaw and purring loud enough that if anyone were outside the room they could probably hear it.  They're basically (read: definitely) cuddling, and Dean tries valiantly to be bothered by it, but he's too blissed out to really care. 

A smug grin stretches Dean's lips.  "Apparently it _is_ possible to fuck a sex demon senseless." 

"Yes, human.  You do please me greatly," Cas murmurs.  He slings a thigh over Dean's hips, and his fingers start tracing nonsensical patterns over Dean's torso. 

Dean scowls, despite the compliment.  "Don't call me that," he grumbles.  It's stupid to be offended, and he knows it.  But there's something almost condescending in the way Cas speaks the title. 

Cas' fingers pause, then take up their random tracing again.  "You intend for me to call you Master, I suppose?"  His voice holds a dangerous edge. 

Somewhere between all the orgasms, Dean had developed a worrying aversion to enslaving the incubus.  "No but-" 

"Then tell me your name." 

Dean snorts.  "That ain't happening, Cas." 

Cas' pout is clearly audible, and he's no longer purring.  "You have a title by which to call me, but offer nothing in return." 

Damn, Cas has him there.  Dean opens his mouth, his name hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he snaps his teeth shut with a click.  He mentally kicks himself for nearly slipping up.   

When he remains silent Cas sighs, sounding forlorn of all things.  "I suppose I could make up one for you if you will not give me one to use." 

Dean snorts.  "Only if I have veto power."  Lord knows, he doesn't want a girl's name, or something worse like _Humperdink._  

Cas lifts his head, and Dean finds himself blinking at the sudden _whoa_ swoopy feeling that spreads through his chest at the the demon’s appearance.  His pupils are relaxed into wide ovals behind drooping eyelids, hiding most of their blue glow, and his skin is flushed under a light shadow of scruff.  His hair, which has always had an untamed look, is even more mussed than usual, spiking off in every direction and making Dean scramble to remember if it was his fingers that ruffled it up. 

 _Okay,_ his brain whispers, _we’re pretty sure that’s the epitome of hot._  

 _Maybe,_ Dean thinks to himself woozily. 

The voice in his mind, which sounds like him only with Sam’s familiar and obnoxious smugness laced through the tone.   _Dude, take another look and then fucking say ‘maybe’._  

He’s distracted from continuing the internal argument with a reminder that he only likes women when he notices the sly twist of Cas' smile.  “What?” he squawks.  Sex demons can’t read minds, can they? 

They can’t, but he’s too flustered to remember.   

“Shall we make a deal, human?” Cas asks casually.  His draws his fingertips up the center of Dean’s chest, leaving a trail of heat behind. 

Dean snorts.  “Really?  A deal?” 

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him.  He stays silent, but now his fingers are trailing up over Dean’s jaw, his cheek, and up over his brow.   

It feels nice.  Everything Cas has done to him feels mind-blowingly fantastic, but this sensation is gentler, more intimate.  The touch is not intended to inflame his senses, but to calm them, to soothe him.  He can feel himself growing drowsy under each stroke over his skin. 

He sighs out a long breath, feeling himself relax further into the mattress.  He’s definitely going to regret this, but he asks anyway.  “What deal?” 

“I will choose a name for you,” Cas answers.  “I may try several before I settle on one I like.  You have-” he lifts his hand and crooks his fingers in a one-handed symbol for quotes, “ _veto power_ over any name I try.” 

Dean frowns.  “So you plan to be around often enough that you’ll not only need a name for me, but you might try out several?” 

Cas shifts around until he can prop his head on one hand, and grins at Dean.  “If you call to me, I will answer your summons.” 

“Yeah, explain that to me.  I get the first summoning, ‘cause I was definitely doing it on purpose, although for the record I was trying to summon a _succubus_.”  And boy, did he fuck that up.  Seriously, he should just never drink again.  “But why did you come back tonight?  I didn’t summon you.” 

Cas shrugs one shoulder.  “I can sense your longing.  I am not obligated to respond to it, but I enjoyed you and wished to sample you again.” 

Dean’s not sure he likes how Cas makes him feel like a favorite pie with that statement, but he lets it go for now.  “So if I get horny, you’re just going to pop up whenever?” 

“I’ll wait until you’re alone if you wish for privacy,” Cas promises.  He leans down enough to nuzzle Dean’s jaw again, inhaling deeply and then letting out an appreciative sigh.  “I have your scent now, human.  I will always know when you need me.” 

Huh.  He’s not sure if that’s kinda cool, or completely horrifying.  He settles on both.  “Cas, I appreciate the sex dude, and trust me, I mean that.” Lying about how good the sex was is completely beyond him.  Even if he could deny it, there’s no fucking way Cas would believe it, so he doesn’t try.  “But you’re a _guy._ I’m straight.” 

Cas pats his cheek.  “Of course.” 

Dean jerks his head away, glaring warningly.  Cas smiles placatingly and places his palm over Dean’s heart. 

There are wards Dean can cast to keep Cas from finding him, or entering his home.  And if Dean can get the words out fast enough, he can banish the demon with an exorcism.  But for some reason, he doesn’t point that out.  Instead he finds himself asking “Okay, so the deal is you get to make up a name for me, and if I don’t like it, I can nix it?” 

“There is more,” Cas says.  “If I guess your real name, you must admit it.” 

“Whoa,” Dean protests, finally finding the energy to shove away from the demon.  He’s trapped between Cas and the wall, but he presses his back against it, putting as much distance between them as possible.  “First of all, I am _not_ giving you my name.  And second, how does this deal benefit me?  Isn’t it supposed to be a trade?” 

“I will no longer call you ‘Human’,” Cas says as if that is a perfectly acceptable offer. 

“Uh, no deal, Cas.”  Dean starts edging toward the foot of the bed.  He doesn’t think he has time to spit out an exorcism before Cas is on him and silencing him, but if he can just get to his dresser, he can grab a hex bag and toss it at the demon.  It will only burn him, but it’s usually enough of a shock to scare off a demon long enough for Dean to put wards in place.   

Quicker than Dean can follow, Cas is on him, dragging him down onto the bed again and straddling his hips.  “I will promise not to use it to Bind you.” 

Dean blinks.  “Really?” 

Cas nods.  “You know I cannot break my part of the deal.” 

Well technically he can, but Dean knows the consequences for doing so are messy and painful.  Contract magic can be pretty fucked up.  He still scoffs at the offer.  “Well that’s reassuring, Cas.  But this deal still doesn’t sound like an even trade.  If you can’t use my name, what good is it to you?  And what’s to stop me from binding you in the meantime?”  He doesn’t need Cas’ True Name to do it, but having it would give him unlimited access to Cas’ power.  He could literally drain Cas to death, something which is very difficult to do to an immortal creature. 

“I will voluntarily serve you in any capacity you wish until I guess your True Name,” Cas adds. 

Dean stills.  That is quite the offer.  Binding a demon gives a Warlock access to their power, but it taints it.  Having a demon serve him willingly without the binding magic would give him nearly as much access to Cas’ power as if he used his True Name to bind him. 

“So,” he pauses to lick his lips, “You get to play a name game, and I get access to your power.  You promise not to bind me if you guess my True Name.  What happens if you get it?” 

“Then my service to you ends.” 

This all sounds too good to be true.  “Really?  That’s it?  Why even bother with my Name?” 

Cas shrugs.  “Maybe I am curious.”  He leans down and runs his tongue over one of Dean’s nipples, and he smiles smugly when the action pulls a surprised whine from him.  “Maybe I wish to taste your Name on my tongue as I stroke my cock.” 

That should _not_ turn Dean on, but fuck if he isn’t getting hard.  And Cas fucking knows it because Dean’s dick is literally poking at his ass like it’s trying to get his attention.  Dammit, now is _not_ the time.  He needs all his blood in his upstairs brain so he can think this through. 

“You serve me until you guess my Name, and if you get it, you are free to go.  You promise not to use my name to Bind me.  Anything else?” 

Cas’ smile turns downright wicked.  “While I serve you, you will serve me.”  He grinds his hips down against Dean’s dick to emphasize his meaning. 

Dean groans, and doesn’t even try to stop himself from thrusting up in a bid for more friction.  The head of his dick catches against Cas’ hole, coating it with slick.  “I don’t-” 

He cuts off when Cas reaches between them and wraps a hand around Dean’s dick.  He shifts until their dicks are lined up and slowly strokes his fist over both of them.  “You don’t what?” 

 _I don’t like men!!_  

But the words are trapped in his throat behind the moan he’s trying to keep from surfacing.  His hips are starting to buck into Cas’ touch of their own volition, and despite having the most intense orgasm of his life (and he’s sure every one with Cas will fall under that category) less than half an hour ago, he can already feel himself hovering at the edge of another one.   

“Human?” Cas asks calmly, as if he’s not unraveling Dean like a cheap sweater.   

“Fuck,” Dean grits out.  “Yes.  I’ll make the deal.” 

Cas’ smile is triumphant.  He leans down to seal the deal with the standard kiss, but Dean stops him with a hand on his chest.  “One more thing,” he manages to choke out between gasps.  “You cannot go snooping for my name, and you will allow me to cast a spell that prevents you from hearing others speak it in your presence.” 

“Deal,” Cas growls before leaning the rest of his weight on Dean’s arm, and closing the distance between them. 

When Cas’ venom floods Dean’s mouth, he comes so hard he’s pretty sure he sees God. 

Apparently God has dark sex-hair, slitted blue eyes, and a five o’clock shadow.  Who’d have thought? 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sort of watersports. Not really, but kinda? Close? I dunno. Be warned.

Waking up to a medley of aches in all the right places would be pleasant if it weren't for the fact that something died in his mouth overnight.  Dean groans his protest against consciousness and works his teeth over his tongue to scrape away the layer of nasty fuzz. 

The noise disturbs his bed partner, who stretches languorously against his side before curling closer and burying his face against Dean's shoulder.  A low rumbling purr emanates from Cas' chest, even though he appears to be sleeping soundly when Dean turns his head on the pillow to look at him. 

 _Great_ , Dean thinks irritability, _looks like I've got myself a cat.  I wonder if he drinks milk._  

The mental image of Cas in a collar and lapping milk out of a saucer flits across Dean's imagination and to his horror he finds himself getting a little excited at the idea.  "What the fuck?" He mutters, turning his attention back to the ceiling and running a hand over his face.   

He's heard the joke about having your brain sucked out through your dick, and for the first time he wonders if that's an actual possibility.  It’s the only logical explanation for what's happening to him.  He's sharing the bed - one could even say _cuddling_ \- with a very obviously male sex demon, and fantasizing about something he's only seen in fetish porn that he will not admit on pain of death that he's ever watched.   

It's either the three orgasms Cas sucked out of him before giving in to his begging and letting him sleep, or Dean's brain cells are being destroyed by incubus venom.  Either way, he's fucked. 

Figuratively and literally. 

Although, if he has his way, he won't be the catcher in this ball game.  He's a little pissed that he allowed it that first night.  But now that Cas is serving him, he can just make it an order not to go there. 

He drops his hand to his side and let's out a gusting breath.  The angle of the light coming from the windows tells him it's still early, and he is tempted to go back to sleep.  But his mouth still tastes like death and he really needs to tap a kidney.  He can always go back to bed after a trip to the bathroom. 

His attempt to roll toward the edge of the bed is halted by a muscled arm wrapping around his waist.  Cas makes an incoherent sound and cuddles against his back, pressing feather light kisses against his spine.   

"Dude, let me up." 

In answer, Cas tightens his grip until their bodies are pressed tightly together, back to chest, thigh to thigh.  Cas even tangles their feet together.  And Cas' dick is nudging hard and insistent between Dean's thighs. 

"Cas, I gotta get up for a minute."  The hand that had been resting on Dean's stomach slides down to thread long fingers through his pubic hair and massage the base of his dick.  His groan is half  arousal and half frustration.  Like any healthy young man he loves sex, but Cas is going to break him if he doesn't lay off.   

He grabs Cas' wrist, but can't quite bring himself to pull it away when those talented fingers cup his balls and start massaging them gently.  Fuck, that feels good.  "Cas," he tries again, even though his voice is an octave too high to sound sincere.  "Seriously, let me up.  I gotta take a piss, man." 

Instead of loosening his grip, Cas presses his hips forward.  The head of his dick slides up and almost catches on Dean's rim, making him gasp at the shock of desire that rockets through him, before slipping past and pressing against the back of his balls.  Cas' hand slides in a loose fist from the base of Dean's dick to the head as he pulls his hips back, then strokes back down as he thrusts forward again. 

"Cas... please..."  He's not sure if he's asking for his freedom, or if he's begging for more.  He's getting hard despite the ache in his bladder. 

"Yes, David?" 

The name pulls Dean's attention away from what Cas is doing to him and he snorts his amusement.  "David?  Really?" 

"You don't like it?" Cas asks.  His grip tightens briefly at the head of Dean's dick and he circles his palm over it, smearing precome over the blood swollen skin. 

Dean nearly loses his train of thought.  "I don't know," he manages to choke out.   

Cas' dick distracts him from the name though as it slides between his ass cheeks, bumping gently over his hole on each pass before pressing against the back of his balls.  The skin between his thighs is wet with sweat and precome, and it should feel gross, but it's fucking fantastic, and Dean's body responds without his conscious command by arching back into every thrust.  Instinctively, he squeezes his thighs together and he's rewarded with a pleased groan from the demon behind him. 

Heat and pressure build low in his belly, and he's desperate to come.  But even with Cas fisting his dick in tandem with the rhythm of his hips, Dean is held just on the edge by the ache in his bladder.  At least until Cas comes with a loud moan against the back of his neck.  He feels the warm splash of Cas' release between his thighs, and then Cas is letting go of his dick and wriggling a hand between their bodies.  Cas scrapes up a dollop of his semen, and presses two fingers into Dean's ass. 

It burns, and not just because of the unexpected stretch of muscles still unused to any kind of penetration.  Just like the first time Cas fucked him, the magical properties of the demon's cum send Dean into a frenzy.  His body thrashes as an orgasm rips through him, and if it weren't for Cas throwing a leg over his hips to hold him in place, he might have fallen off the bed. 

Cas twists his wrist, and his fingers rub against Dean's prostate, forcing a second orgasm out of him.  He feels Cas sink sharp teeth into his shoulder near the bandage covering his last bite.  The exquisite pain-pleasure causes Dean's vision to white out as venom enters directly into his bloodstream. 

A few minutes later Dean realizes he's been staring mindlessly at the wall across the room, completely unaware of anything besides the soft lap of Cas' tongue over the new bite.  "Dude," he mumbles through tingling lips that barely cooperate with his attempt to form words.  "What the fuck did you just do to me?" 

"You weren't coming from just my hand," Cas says between licks.  "Incubus semen induces orgasm." 

Dean blinks.  Why didn't he remember that from his text books? 

Probably because he'd been more interested in reading about succubi, and had skimmed over the bits about their male brethren.  He's going to have to see if he can dig up that particular tome again for a little research. 

His bladder reminds him of its presence with a wave of pressure, and he winces.  "Okay, for real this time.  Let me up." 

"Of course, David." 

Dean wrinkles his nose as he rolls from the bed onto his feet.  He casts a quick glare over his shoulder as he hurries out of the room.  "Not sure I like that one, Cas." 

He is finally standing in front of the toilet and sighing out loud with pleasure as he relieves himself before he realizes Cas followed him.  He's almost startled enough to stop mid-stream when Cas continues the conversation.  As it is, he just barely manages not to lose his aim. 

"No, you are correct," Cas agrees from where he's leaning against the bathroom's door frame.  "'David' does not fit you at all.  Maybe 'Richard'?  A king's name suits you." 

Dean blames his blush on the fact that Cas is casually watching him pee, and not because of the odd compliment.  It's not like he's ever let one of his lovers witness his bathroom habits before, so it's a convenient excuse.  "Cas, a little privacy please?" 

Cas tilts his head, his slitted eyes narrow with confusion.  "Why?" 

"'Cause I'm taking a leak and I don't need an audience," Dean snaps. 

"But you appear to be finished," Cas points out.

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes.  He shakes himself and turns to the sink, intending to brush the nasty funk out of his mouth.  Before he can reach for the knob to turn on the faucet, he glances in the mirror and double-takes at his reflection.  It's not the wild spikes in his hair that scream _look who just got laid!_ or the post-coital flush under his skin that widens his eyes in horror. 

It's the rusty flakes of dry blood liberally smeared all over the bottom half of his face.  He quickly twists the knob and scoops up water over his face, washing away the blood.  He sucks a little bit of water in his mouth and swishes it around, spits and repeats. 

The memory of Cas' blood flooding into his mouth through clenched teeth shoots to the front of his brain, and forgetting his own condition he quickly turns, still dripping, away from his reflection to grab Cas and spin him around.  He's distantly aware that the only reason he's able to manhandle the demon is because he caught him by surprise.  Cas has already proven several times that he's much stronger than Dean by treating him like like a ragdoll in bed. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean hisses when he sees the damage to Cas' back.  Cas tries to look over his shoulder, but Dean jerks him further into the room, knocks the toilet cover down and shoves him down on it, angled so Dean has access to his back. 

Cas tries to turn again.  "What are you-" 

"Sit still Cas." Dean orders with all the firm confidence of a Warlock accustomed to immediate obedience.  He squats down behind Cas and retrieves his first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink.  "Dammit, I can't believe you." 

Despite Dean's order, Cas twists around enough to watch him as he pulls out gauze and a bottle of peroxide.  "You are angry."  It's not a question, but there's confusion lacing his words. 

Dean's movements are as sharp as his tone.  "Just shut up and let me take care of this before it gets infected." 

Hell yes he's angry.  He's never injured any of the creatures he's summoned before.  His job as a freelance Hunter often requires him to summon spirits and demons to catch them and send them back to their home realm so they'll stop wreaking havoc on humans.  He knows that exorcisms are unpleasant, but only if the creature he's trying to banish resists.  Most of them get the hint and fuck off to their own world willingly.   

That's not to say that his job doesn't involve violence, but he saves it for creatures that can't be bound by his powers, and for someone as strong as him that is rare.  But his mother taught him that most demons and spirits are usually pulled into the human world by accident, and they only cause problems because they don't understand where they are or what is happening to them.  It's cruel to harm them because some idiot thought it would be fun to summon a monster for their own gain, then lost control of it because they're not strong enough or properly trained to control it. 

Remembering his mother's lessons calms some of his anger.  He often sat at her knee while she lectured her apprentices, and her melodious voice still lives in his memory even though she passed away when he was still a child.   

 _Do not mistreat the creatures you summon.  Respect them as people and they won't come back to eat you when you release them from the bond._  

He wonders if Mary would be more horrified that he's fucking an incubus that he summoned specifically for a night of wild sex, or that he bit Cas so hard he left a bleeding wound.  He's pretty sure he'd get the worst lecture of his life for both.  Not even his dad's temper is as scary as his mother's disappointment. 

His hands are gentle when he reaches to start cleaning the wound.  He can feel Cas' curious gaze on him like a physical weight, and he avoids the glowing blue eyes by pushing at Cas' shoulder to force him to face the shower.  "Sorry Cas, this is probably going to sting," he warns. 

Cas hisses in a breath and tries to pull away from the peroxide-soaked gauze Dean carefully pats against the swollen bite.  Dean holds him in place, free hand heavy on his shoulder.  After a moment Cas relaxes. 

"Sorry," Dean murmurs again.  He means it both for the bite and for the sting. 

Cas doesn't respond, and he allows Dean to finish cleaning and bandaging the bite.  When Dean tells him he's finished Cas twists again in an attempt to see the back of his shoulder.  Dean rolls his eyes at the useless gesture and pulls him up off the toilet, maneuvering him until he's standing with his back to the mirror so he can get a look at his reflection. 

He tries to reach over his shoulder to touch the taped edge of the bandage but his fingers fall a few inches short.  His eyes find Dean's through the mirror and they’re wide with confusion, the pupils contracted into black slivers hiding in the pools of blue.  "Why did you cover your mark?" 

His eyes fall on the bandage on Dean’s shoulder, and his lips start to tremble.  Turning to face Dean, he reaches out and touches the edge of the tape, picking at it with his nails like he wants to remove it but isn’t sure he should. 

Dean catches his hand and pulls it away from his bandage.  Something twists painfully in his chest when he sees Cas’ distress.  He holds Cas’ hand gently in his own, and mentally fortifies himself for what he suspects is going to be the weirdest conversation ever.  “It’s a bandage, to protect it from infection while it heals.  Don’t pick at it.” 

Cas’ eyes drop to the bandage, and the tip of his pink tongue flicks out to wet his lips.  “You’re not ashamed of it?” 

Yep, definitely weird.  “No,” Dean draws the word out, unsure how to proceed.  Ashamed?  What the hell?  “I just don’t want it to get worse.” 

Cas frees his hand, and slides it up over Dean’s shoulder without touching the bandage.  His fingers find the new bite next to the bandage, reminding Dean of its presence when Cas’ touch causes a twinge of pain.  “Should we treat this one as well?” 

Shit, Dean can’t believe it happened again.  Until Cas reminded him about it, he hadn’t even realized it was there.  There must be some kind of numbing agent in Cas’ venom.  He frowns down at his first aid kit.  “Yeah, I’ll probably need to go to the hospital since I can’t really reach it myself-” 

“I will do it,” Cas says quickly.  There’s a dangerous undercurrent in his voice that Dean doesn’t recognize.  “No need to allow anyone else to touch it.” 

Dean’s brows go up.  Is that… _jealousy?_  

He really needs to find that book. 

It's tempting to argue since Cas' lack of knowledge about infection would indicate that he probably has no idea how to perform simple first aid, but asking anyone else to tend to it is definitely in the Bad Idea category.  Having to explain a human looking bite to a doctor or even worse, _someone he knows,_ does not sound like a good time.   

So he sits down on the toilet, facing away from Cas to give him access to his back.  He gestures to the open kit on the floor.  "Alright, grab that brown bottle and some gauze and I'll tell you what to do." 

Cas lights up and Dean feels his skin flush at the demon's obvious pleasure.  He's not sure why seeing Cas grin like he's being given a special treat goes straight to his dick, but he chalks it up to Venom Side Effects and rests his arms between his thighs to hide his growing hard on.  Damn, at the rate they're going he might actually get tired of sex. 

He snorts at the ridiculous thought and shakes his head dismissively when Cas makes a curious sound.  Not a thought he wants to share.  Thankfully Cas let's it go. 

He guides Cas through cleaning the bite and bandaging it, and by the time they're done, his boner hasn't gone down at all.  In fact, he's nearly panting with the effort of not tackling Cas to the floor and rubbing himself off against his thigh like a horny dog.  How he's supposed to hide it with Cas hovering _right there_ and making no move to leave is kind of beyond him.   

Apparently Cas is already aware of his predicament.  Strong hands slide around Dean's hips, nudging his arms out of the way so they can touch him where he needs it most.  One cups his balls, fondling them gently, while the other wraps loosely around his dick.  "Let me take care of this for you, Marcus." 

Dean barks a laugh.  "No." 

Cas licks a stripe up the center of his spine, leaving a tingling trail, but his his hands go still.  "You do not want me to pleasure you?" 

Now that Cas has already started, Dean certainly doesn't want him to stop - and he'll come back to examine that later.  He covers Cas' hands with his own to encourage them to continue their exploration.  "Not what I meant," he grunts.  Fuck, Cas' hands are _magical._ "I just don't like the name." 

"As you wish," Cas' tone is notably warmer, and he starts back up with the fan-fucking-tastic hand job.  "What about Elliot?" 

Dean wrinkles his nose and grunts his displeasure.  It's about all he can manage to articulate when Cas does that twisty thing with his palm.  With the demon behind him, he can almost imagine the person stroking him is a woman, but there’s no mistaking the size or strength for anything but a man’s hands. 

"Joseph?" 

He manages to shake his head even as he gasps when Cas presses his thumb against the slit at the head of his dick. 

"Marion?" 

That gets Dean's attention and he glares over his shoulder.  "That's a girl's name." 

"It's not," Cas counters, and how the hell does he sounds so composed?? "But you're right, it doesn't really fit you, does it?" 

Dean's balls tighten in Cas' palm.  He's so close to coming that he feels it like a burning in the pit of his stomach.  "Cas..." 

"Brandon?" 

"Cas, please..." 

"Do you like Brandon?" 

Dean clenches his teeth.  He has no idea how Cas is holding him on the edge like this, and he hates it (lies - he totally loves it, but _no one_ will _ever_ know).  “No,” he grits out.   

Maybe if he can just move his hips- 

Cas tightens his arms around Dean, holding him still.  “You could always give in and tell me your name,” he murmurs against the bandage covering his second bite. 

“Tell me... yours,” Dean manages between gasps. 

“Stubborn.”  The word is wrapped in layers of humor, resignation, and fondness. 

And then Cas does that twisty thing with his palm again and Dean’s shout echoes loudly off the bathroom walls as he comes hot and hard, and _finally, Jesus fuck._  His body twitches as Cas strokes him through his orgasm, and after a moment he has to shove the hands away or he might crawl out of his skin, he’s so sensitized.   

Cas releases his dick, but he stands and grabs Dean to push him off the toilet seat to kneel on the floor.  His come-slick fingers tangle in Dean’s hair, forcing his head back and exposing his throat.   

Dean’s mouth drops open, half in surprise and half in awe at the sight of Cas standing over him.  The incubus’ pupils are widely dilated, and he’s panting, showing off the sharp edges of his teeth.  And he’s also stroking his cock right in Dean’s face. 

It takes far too long for him to realize what’s about to happen; it is only the span of a few seconds, but by then it’s too late.  The muscles in Cas’ belly clench, and he let’s out a sharp breath just as he starts to come. 

Hot cum splashes over Dean’s face, nearly getting him in the eye but he flinches and it only catches on his lashes.  Several thick ropes splash over his mouth and chin, and despite himself, he flicks his tongue out to lick his lips clean.  The familiar flavor of warm honey and cloves spreads over his tastebuds, and he quickly licks his lips again hoping for more.   

And of course ingesting incubus cum has him desperately hard again.  He fists his dick, and is coming again after two quick pumps. 

When Cas finally releases his hair, Dean leans forward to brace his forehead on Cas’ thigh while he tries to catch his breath.  “Dammit Cas,” he finally manages after a few minutes of sucking in huge gulps of air.  “Give a guy a few hours of recovery time, Jesus.” 

His muscles ache, and his knees are definitely not going to be happy with him when he finally gets up from the hard tiles of the bathroom floor.  The fluffy maroon rug is not nearly enough padding for these kinds of activities. 

Cas’ hand comes back to his hair, but this time it pets through the strands, tugging softly now and then and probably leaving it looking like a mess.  Dean grimaces when he remembers what exactly was coating Cas’ fingers and where it’s ending up with all this petting.  He jerks his head away and with an effort lifts his head to glare at Cas.  “Dude, gross.” 

Actually they’re both covered in drying sweat and cum.  Some of it probably crusting on their skin from their overnight activities.  They both desperately need a shower, but Dean doesn’t want to disturb their newly applied bandages.  He’s almost too tired to do it, but he braces himself on the toilet and pushes himself to his feet.  He has to brace himself against the counter for a moment when a wave of dizziness nearly causes him to lose his balance.  He must have stood up too fast, especially since he’s sure most of his blood supply hasn’t made its way back up to his brain yet. 

He ignores Cas’ concerned look and reaches for the mirror over the sink, swinging it open to reveal a medicine cabinet.  He has a jar with a special cream Sam made for him just for situations such as this.  Sammy’s alchemy hobby is pretty damn useful.   

Dean manages to twist the top off despite the way his hands are trembling, revealing a milky colored substance.  He scoops some out on his forefinger and traces a sigil on his forearm.  A tingle settles into his skin and spreads outwards, cleaning him with the magic imbued in the cream by Sam’s magic.  As it does its work, he turns to Cas and gestures with one cream-coated finger for him to hold out his arm. 

Cas tilts his head in curiosity and obeys.  He startles when the tingling starts, and stares down at his arm in consternation.  “What is this magic?” 

“A little trick my brother cooked up,” Dean replies as he carefully replaces the lid and puts the jar back in the medicine cabinet.  “For days when I don’t have time to take a shower.” 

Cas lifts his arm to his face, dropping his mouth open slightly while he scents the area where Dean had drawn the sigil.  His nose wrinkles and he jerks away.  “I see.” 

It’s obvious Cas doesn’t like it.  He keeps his lips clamped tight, and his nostrils flare with each breath.  But he doesn’t complain. 

“Sorry, Cas.  Next time we’ll get clean the old fashioned way, I promise.”  Dean blinks at himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  Why on Earth is he planning for the next time they’re both covered in far too many bodily fluids?   

He grumbles under his breath and spins on a heel to leave the room, making a beeline for the dresser in his bedroom.  He pulls out underwear, old jeans soft with wear and riddled with holes, and a plain black t-shirt.  He’s not on duty, so he doesn’t bother with adding his robes over his casual clothing.  His Magician’s License requires him to wear robes when he’s working in an official capacity, but fuck if he’s going to wear them around the house. 

Cas hovers in the doorway, watching as Dean pulls on his boxers and jeans.  He’s still casting disturbed glares at his arm now and then, but most of his attention is on Dean.   

The weight of his stare makes Dean fidget, and he’s tempted to order Cas to go away until he’s needed for something.  But it feels a little weird to kick him out after the morning’s activities.  With a sigh, he pulls out more clothing and holds it out to the demon.  “Here,” he says gruffly.  “Get dressed, and then I’ll see what I can scrounge up for breakfast.” 

Cas accepts the bundle of clothing, and frowns down at it.  “I do not require clothing.” 

“You do if you’re going to stick around here,” Dean says as he pulls his own t-shirt on.  “The last thing I need is for someone to stop by and start asking questions about the naked dude in my apartment.”   

It might give them ideas.  Those ideas would be somewhat accurate, but Dean doesn’t want them actually thinking those things.  He’s straight, and as soon as he’s done with Cas, he doesn’t want rumors going around that might scare off any potentials in the future. 

Cas let’s the folded clothing unravel, and he looks at it critically for a moment.  Dean almost laughs at the displeased sound the demon makes. 

“Do you need me to show you how to put them on?” he asks.  The glare he receives in answer does make him laugh.  Cas has been cool and in control since Dean first met him, so it’s hilarious to see him so ruffled over having to cover himself up with human clothing.  He holds his hands up, palms out in a placating gesture.  “Sorry, you just looked like you weren’t sure what to do with them.” 

“I would like to burn them,” Cas mutters.  He drops the jeans to the floor and shakes out the boxers before lifting a leg to slip into them.  “Along with yours.” 

Dean’s mouth goes dry at the sight of all those flexing muscles.  He licks his lips twice and clears his throat so he can speak.  “Sorry, dude.  Gonna have to get used to it if you plan on sticking around.  Humans don’t really dig people prancing around in their birthday suit unless you’re in a nudist colony.” 

Cas looks up from buttoning his fly, and there's a sly twist to his lips.  "Maybe you should relocate your home." 

"Sassy little fucker aren't you?" Dean accompanies the accusation with an eyeroll, but can't quite control the upward twitch of his own lips.  

If he'd met Cas under different circumstances he thinks they could probably be friends.  With that sense of humor Cas would fit right in with the rest of his friends too. 

Shit, Cas is actually going to be meeting people he knows.  He's going to have to come up with a reason why Cas is sticking around, since he's never been the type of Warlock that keeps demon bondslaves around just because he can.  And that's a reminder that he still needs to cast the spell to shield his Name. 

"Cas, c'mere." 

Cas' head pops out of the neck of the t-shirt he'd just pulled on, leaving his normally wild hair in an all new configuration of spikes and curls, and he looks at Dean hopefully.  "Yes, Paul?" 

Dean scoffs at the name, but doesn't argue.  He gestures for Cas to come closer.  The demon obeys eagerly, closing nearly all the space between them, leaving only inches between their chests.  Dean blinks, and takes a step back to give himself room to breathe.  It doesn't help; Cas' scent still surrounds him, leaving him slightly lightheaded and more than slightly horny.  Again.  Damn it. 

"Spell time, Cas," he says, lifting his hands palms out to show that he means no harm with what he's about to do.  Anyone with The Gift would see wispy tendrils of power circling the tips of his fingers.  "May I?"  

Technically Cas already gave him permission when they made their deal, but his mother's lessons on politeness are hard wired into him after two decades of practicing the art of Summoning.  Cas agrees with a nod after eyeing Dean's hands curiously for only a few seconds. 

Dean reaches out to cup Cas' face.  His thumbs rest just under Cas' eyes, and his first and middle fingers frame his ears on each side.  He mutters an incantation, and feels the magic seep from his fingers into Cas' skin, moving at his command into the configuration required to block his senses under specific circumstances.  The spell will prevent Cas from hearing anyone speak his true name, and prevent him from reading it anywhere. 

He closes off the spell by releasing Cas' face and tracing a symbol in the center of his forehead with the tip of his pinky.  "There," he says briskly.  All done. 

Cas' eyes had slipped closed during the casting, but now they open, pinning Dean with their blue glow.  "Should we test it?" 

Dean snorts.  "You're hoping I did it wrong and you'll trick me into saying my Name." 

The demon bares his teeth in a predatory smile.  "Yes." 

Dean wishes he didn't think that smile was hot as fuck.  He ignores his libido, and smirks.  "Sorry, buddy.  I'm pretty damn good at what I do." 

"Then test it," Cas challenges.  He closes the space between them again, and raise his hands to trace patterns through the thin cloth of Dean's t-shirt.  His voice has dropped to a rusty whisper that sends a shiver down Dean's spine.  "Tell me your name." 

"Dean Michael."  He says it without hesitation.  He really does know his own skills. 

 _When I'm sober anyway._ He suppresses a wince at the thought.   

Cas' eyes go wide with surprise, his pupils contracting into black slivers.  Dean has no idea what Cas hears instead of his name, but whatever it is seems to shock him. 

And then Cas sneezes.   

Right in Dean's face. 

"Ugh gross, Cas."  Dean wipes an arm across his face and steps away from the incubus.  "If I catch some demon virus from you, I'm totally kicking your ass." 

The expression scrunching Cas' face is totally worth a few germs though.  He almost laughs when Cas reaches up to rub at his nose.  He looks so confounded, like he's never sneezed before. 

But his humor dissolves when he feels a wave of dizziness.  His stomach growls almost at the same time, drawing Cas' attention. 

The incubus is suddenly all business, his eyebrows drawn down in a stern glare.  “You need nourishment.” 

Dean nods his agreement.  “C’mon Cas,” he throws an arm around the demon’s shoulder and guides him out of his bedroom.  “Let’s rustle up some grub.  Ever had coffee before?” 

Cas’ frown says that he has not, and Dean’s actually a little bit excited to introduce him to it.  Weird, but he’s going to go with it.  After all, _everyone_ should try coffee, right?  Of course, right. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a Kiss the Baker reference in this chapter :D

Dean scowls at the nearly empty shelves of his fridge. There's several beers, which even he knows is not a good idea for breakfast, half a bottle of ketchup in the door shelf, and a plate covered in tinfoil that he knows has been in there long enough to develop intelligent life.  He shuts the fridge door on that growing ecosystem and goes to the cupboards only to find a similar state of affairs. 

He's got instant coffee and a box of stale Cheez-itz, and it'll have to do for now.  He grabs both and shoves a handful of crackers in his mouth before getting out a mug for coffee.  He shakes the box in Cas' direction.  "Want some?" He asks with his mouth still full. 

Cas' upper lip curls away from his teeth, and he eyes the box with disdain.  If his expression didn't give away his feelings, his tone would.  "I am not hungry." 

"Really?" Dean asks as he tosses back a few more crackers.  Even stale, the cheese crackers are still delicious.  He sets the box aside and starts preparing himself a cup of coffee, first filling the mug with water from the sink then putting it in the microwave to warm it up.  Unlike Sam, he can't pull off the instant heating trick.   

He turns away from the microwave and nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds Cas standing so close he's surprised he didn't feel the demon's warm breath on his neck.  He plants a hand on Cas' chest and gently pushes him back a step.  "Okay if you're going to be around for a while, we gotta go over some rules." 

Cas squinted his confusion, then drops his eyes to Dean's hand.  He takes it from where it rests over his heartbeat and lifts it to his mouth.  His tongue flicks out against each fingertip.  "What rules, William?" 

Dean jerks his hand away only to flick the tip off Cas' nose, nearly laughing at the way the demon's eyes briefly cross.  "Not 'William'," he says just as the microwave dings.  He retrieves his mug and starts scooping grounds into it.  "First rule: personal space.  Give people a couple feet of room." 

"I do not wish to be so close to anyone else." 

That brings Dean's head snapping back around to face Cas.  He opens his mouth to address that statement, but changes his mind mid-breath.  Shaking his head, he goes back to stirring the dissolving grounds into his coffee.  "Well give me a little space, dude.  I don't wanna be tripping over you all the time." 

"We could solve that by staying in bed." Cas' reply is earnest enough that Dean knows he's not just being a flirt. 

Dean turns to lean his back against the edge of the counter and takes his first sip of wake up juice.  His nose wrinkles at the bitter flavor, but he doesn't want to waste sugar on the cheap shit.  He adds _good coffee_ to his mental shopping list.  Despite the heat, he takes a larger gulp in an effort to get used to the taste.  

Cas inches closer and runs a hand over Dean's belly, just above the waistband of his jeans.  "Are there more rules?" 

"Um." Dean is completely distracted by Cas' touch.  The tips of his fingers slip under the hem of his shirt and trace tiny circles on his skin.  "Not yet.  We'll add more as we go." 

Cas nods his agreement and drifts closer so he's back where he started before Dean forced him to step back.  Dean can feel the heat of his body, even through the scant inches between them and the layers of their clothing.  His slitted eyes, their glow invisible in the daylight coming from the window over the sink, drop to Dean's coffee cup.  A wrinkle forms between his brows.  "Is that the only sustenance you plan to break your fast?" 

"Hell no," Dean answers gruffly.  Between taking the edge off his hunger with the crackers and Cas' touch he managed to forget his stomach.  It rumbles under the demon's exploring fingers.  "I gotta head to the store, but coffee first." 

Despite Dean's request for space, Cas presses against him and buries his face against his neck, inhaling deeply and sighing out his words.  "Be quick.  I cannot fuck you if you are weak with hunger." 

Dean chokes on his own spit, and goes into a coughing fit that forces Cas away.  He manages to set his unfinished mug on the counter without spilling hot coffee all over himself.  Once his airways are clear, he cocks a glare in Cas' direction.  "Rule two: don't say shit like that." 

Cas' lips twitch, but he doesn't agree or disagree. 

Deciding it's not worth pushing, Dean dumps what's left of the cheap coffee into the sink.  "Come on, Cas.  Let's go get some food." 

After a small argument over shoes that Cas wins, leaving the demon barefoot and smug, Dean leads him out to his car.  The complex he lives in has covered parking, but Dean pays extra for a garage.  He makes enough to buy a house but he hasn't found one that he likes in the area yet, and he wants to stay close while his brother finishes his schooling. 

Cas barely gives the Impala a glance which Dean would totally find offensive if it weren't for his reaction once he's settled in the passenger seat.  His alien eyes fall closed and he takes a deep breath, scenting the air like he smells something absolutely fucking delicious and he can't wait to take his first bite.   

When Cas starts blindly running his hands over the surfaces in the car, first the dash then the leather of the seat, Dean's mouth goes dry.  The way Cas' hands move over Baby reminds him of the way the demon touches him during sex, and god dammit he's getting hard again just from watching Cas rub leather and that is completely fucked up.   

Huffing in irritation, he jams his keys in the ignition, twisting them viciously until the engine roars to life.  When he hooks an arm over the seatback, turning to watch his progress as he backs out, he catches Cas looking at him with heavy lidded eyes. "What?" He grunts as he takes his foot off the break and turns his attention to the view through the back window. 

"This vehicle smells like you," Cas says simply, as if he's not sending Dean's blood pressure through the roof with his husky voice and the _come fuck me_ pheromones flooding the enclosed space.   

Dean risks a look at Cas once the car is free of the garage, then deliberately turns his eyes forward to pay attention to the road.  The demon looks like he's half a second from coming across the seat and starting something that Dean wouldn't actually mind finishing if they weren't out in public.  He doesn't want to think about Cas straddling his hips and grinding their dicks together, but of course that's exactly where his brain goes.   

It pisses him off.   

Just two days ago that fantasy would have been about a hot chick with her breasts pulled up over the cups of her bra, and her wet pussy soaking through her panties and dampening his jeans.  He can barely imagine himself with a woman now, even though he has experienced that exact scenario in his past.   

His hands tighten over the steering wheel and he takes a turn faster than he should, causing Cas to gasp softly and brace himself against the dash.  "Put your seatbelt on," he snaps. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas turn to look at him.  He can practically feel the blue glow of his eyes burning a hole through the side of his head.  "You are angry." 

Cas sounds so genuinely confused that it takes the wind out of Dean's sails.  It's not his fault that Dean was an idiot and drunk-summoned him.  Sure, he could have taken off when Dean dismissed him instead of sticking around for a night of date rape.  But he's a sex demon, and sex is in his nature.  Asking him not to act on it would be like summoning a hellhound without the correct protections and then expecting it to sit or fetch like a well trained dog instead of trying to gnaw your face off. 

And at this point, Dean is starting to accept that even if he's never been into dudes before, he's at least into Cas.  Yeah it took a venom overdose to get him there, but Cas is pretty damn hot for a guy, and fan-fucking-tastic in bed.   

He blows out a long breath and loosens his grip on the wheel.  "It's nothing, don't worry about it." 

He risks a look at Cas and finds the demon watching him closely, but the lusty heat in his gaze is gone, replaced with razor sharp curiosity.  It's like he's trying to read something straight from Dean's soul.  It makes Dean wonder if amoebas feel the same when being looked at under a microscope. 

The idea makes him snort at himself for being an idiot.  He rolls his eyes back to the street just in time to turn into the grocery store parking lot.  He shuts off the engine and smiles at Cas.  "C'mon, let's do this." 

Grocery shopping with a demon tagging along is, in a word, weird.   

The combination of epic bed head, the shadow of two day stubble, bare feet, and clothes that hang loose enough on Cas’ frame to expose half a shoulder and enough hip bone to make Dean's mouth water (even as he plans on adding a belt to Cas' next outfit), make the demon look well fucked, yet human.  From a distance Cas probably looks like a grungy houseboy that just rolled out of bed and into a random pile of clothes which are at least clean, even if they don't really fit him properly.   

Up close, his alien nature becomes much more obvious.  Dean sees more than one shopper glance at Cas' face in passing and then violently double-take when they register his cat-like eyes.  At least the buzzing fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling minimize the blue glow.  Most humans tend to mentally connect glowing eyes with monsters that hide in closets or under beds, waiting patiently to eat the innocent children that don't notice the eerie light before they go to sleep. 

(In their defense, the fear is not completely unfounded, which is why Dean has a job hunting down such man-eating monsters.  A very well paid job.  Hazard pay is his friend.) 

And there's also the fog of pheromones that follows Cas around as the demon trails after Dean from one aisle to the next.  Men and women alike flush bright red, and their eyes go glassy.  Dean is fairly sure that many of the people doing their family shopping on a normal Monday morning are probably going to go home and have sexy fun times with their significant others or their hands as soon as they find themselves some privacy.   

He also thinks that if Cas weren't practically trodding on his heels - despite the talk Dean gave him about personal space - several shoppers would have approached him for flirting and potentially hooking up.  Even with the weird eyes, Cas is human passing and sexy enough that even without his pheromones luring people in, he would be catching people's attention. 

Dean is adamantly _not_ proud of the fact that Cas is _his._ Or gritting his teeth against the urge to snap at people to back off when they wander too close.  Nope. Definitely not. 

Cas is completely oblivious to the attention he's garnering.  He is far too focused on what Dean is putting into the cart.  He's already talked Dean into adding more fresh fruits and vegetables than he normally would, insisting that Dean needs to take better care of himself.  It's actually a lot like shopping with Sam.  In other words; annoying as hell.

Currently he's holding a package of Oreos, frowning at it as he reads the nutrition information on the back (and hey a demon that can read? Kind of awesome in Dean's book).  "I do not think this is a healthy choice." He looks up at Dean, eyes narrowed and mouth tight with concern. "Are you sure you wish to purchase this?" 

Dean snatches it from him and drops it in the cart.  "Dude, how is it that you even know what that stuff means anyway? And how to cook for that matter?"  Every time Dean asks Cas if he wants something, Cas responds with a shrug and the vague statement that he doesn't eat human food, so he obviously isn't a foodie. 

Cas frowns at the blue and white package like it has personally offended him and he's considering destroying it with the power of his mind.  "I have a... friend; Gabe is a gluttony demon.  I learned what I know from him." 

Dean lifts a brow.  "He taught you about human food?  And he never made you try a cookie?" 

Cas' response is similar to the sneer he gave Dean's box of stale Cheez-itz earlier.  "I do not wish to try it." 

"Huh.  Okay."  Dean decides to let it go.  If Cas doesn't want to eat, he doesn't want to eat.  He pushes the cart past Cas toward the end of the aisle where the crackers are.  He needs a fresh box of Cheez-itz.   

When Cas opens his mouth to protest when he grabs a box, Dean decides it's time for a distraction.  "Thought of any other names yet?" 

It works.  Cas immediately loses interest in what Dean is putting in the cart, and his eyes light up, their glow vivid against his dark eyelashes.  “What do you think of ‘Peter’?” 

Dean wrinkles his nose, and continues on to the next aisle.  “I think you should keep guessing.” 

“Dallas?” 

“I ain’t a city, Cas.” 

“Edward.” 

“Oh _hell no._ ” 

Cas huffs, visibly offended by Dean’s vehement denial.  “Why not?” 

“Sparkly vampires, Cas.” 

“Vampires don’t sparkle.” 

Dean stops in front of the meat section, and waves a hand emphatically.  “Exactly!” 

It’s obvious by the way Cas is looking at him like he’s not speaking in a language they both understand that he thinks Dean might be a little bit crazy, but he shrugs and let’s it go.  The list goes on as Cas follows him through the rest of the store.  Eric, Arthur, Samuel - which makes Dean laugh so hard that Cas actually pokes him in the side to get him to stop - Bruce, Harold, Thomas.  Dean shoots them all down. 

“What about Fergus?” Cas asks as they head toward the front of the store. 

“No way.  I know a guy named Fergus and he’s a dick.” 

“I like dick,” Cas says thoughtfully.  Then he perks up.  “Isn’t that a human name as well?” 

Dean snorts and eyes Cas skeptically.  “Now I think you’re just fucking with me.” 

The pink tip of Cas’ tongue flicks out and slides along his upper lip, and his smile is sly.  “I would like to be.” 

Even though Dean _knows_ Cas is one hundred percent serious, he throws his head back and laughs.  Gods help him, that almost sounds like a line Dean has used.  It’s truly a wonder he ever got laid, because now that he’s heard it, he realizes it’s so fucking lame. 

But then Cas is pressing against Dean’s side, and burying his nose against his neck.  He can feel the demon’s hardon when he presses himself against Dean’s hip.  An invisible cloud of honey and cloves surrounds him, and suddenly fucking sounds like the _best idea ever._  

When Cas nips at the skin under his jaw, Dean is giving serious thought to abandoning the shopping cart and dragging the demon into the men’s room for a little privacy.  And when Cas slips his hands up under his t-shirt and starts drawing little designs on his skin, Dean is already three steps away from the cart before a voice he recognizes pulls him out of the sex haze. 

“Dean!  Hi!”  Becky’s shout echoes through the whole store, making Dean wince.  Dammit, why does she have to be working today?  Why did he pick this store?  Why hasn’t he already moved three states away so he can shop in peace without ever running into someone who knows him? 

His head clears even more when Cas sneezes against his shoulder.  He turns to reprimand Cas for splattering demon germs all over him again, but he’s distracted by the sight of Cas’ disgruntled expression as he runs a palm over his nose.   

That shouldn’t be cute, but it is.  It really is. 

Before he can really process his reaction, Becky is practically standing on top of them.  “Hey!  How are you doing?”  She eyes Cas with naked curiosity.  “Who’s your friend?  Oh! _Is your brother here?”_  

She emphasizes that last question by grabbing Dean’s arm, which turns out to be a huge mistake.  He barely has time to register that she’s touching him before he hears a low and dangerous growl.  Becky yelps when Cas snatches her hand away from Dean’s arm, holding it in what must be a crushing grip if the sudden rush of tears in her eyes are anything to go by.   

“You do not touch him,” Cas snarls out through bared teeth, inches from her face. 

Years of Hunting have honed Dean’s reflexes, and he’s quick to act despite his surprise.  “Cas, stop!” he snaps, voice hard with command.   

It’s enough to make Cas pause in his attack, and Dean is able to catch his wrist.  He squeezes.  “Let her go, Cas.” 

For a second he doesn’t think Cas is going to obey.  The demon is still staring hard at Becky, who is shrinking away from him, her eyes wide with horror.  Just as Dean is about to resort to magic, Cas finally releases her and steps back.  But he puts himself between her and Dean, and the air around him practically vibrates with suppressed violence.   

Becky is frozen in place, a mouse hypnotized by the cat.   

Dean steps around Cas, glaring him into silence when the demon tries to protest.  He takes Becky’s hand in his, and examines her wrist.  The skin is red, and there might be a little bruising, but he doesn’t think the damage goes beyond that.  “You okay Becky?" 

She finally tears her attention away from Cas and looks up at him instead.  “Um… yeah, I guess?” Her eyes flick back and forth between him and Cas, and the fear is still there, but curiosity is quickly overtaking it.  “Is this your… are you… I didn’t know you were into guys?” 

Oh shit.  Of all the people in the world to see him with Cas, it has to be Becky Rosen.  She is the very embodiment of the nosy gossip.  And she’s been obsessed with Dean and Sam’s ( _especially Sam’s_ ) relationship statuses for years.   

He can practically hear the wheels turning in her head.  The very healthy fear she should still be feeling for Cas is trickling away by the second, and he swears that she’s starting to vibrate with anxiety over which one of the million questions she’s going to ask first as soon as he opens his mouth to say anything at all about Cas.   

No matter what he says, she’s going to come to her own conclusions. 

“I’m not,” he says on a sigh, even though he _knows_ it’s not going to do him any good to deny it to her.  As far as Becky is concerned, everyone is a little bit gay.  “Cas is a demon, and he’s in my service.” 

If anything, her eyes only get wider, her tears drying.  She doesn’t even seem to be aware he’s still holding her bruised wrist.  “Oh _really?_  What kind of service?” 

“I am an incubus,” Cas answers.  His voice still holds a dangerous edge, and when Dean whips around to glare at him, his slitted blue eyes are glued to Becky’s hand in Dean’s and he looks like he’s contemplating biting off her fingers one at a time.  “He summoned me for-” 

“Okay, yeah!  Never mind that,” Dean interrupts loudly.  He wraps an arm around Becky and forcibly turns her toward the front of the store.  “Why don’t you go put some ice on your hand?  I’ll call Sam when I get home and see if he can bring you some healing creams for it?” 

Sam is going to kill him for this. 

Becky looks down at her hand as if she’d forgotten it’s attached to her arm.  She flexes her fingers, and winces a little, then looks up at him hopefully.  “He would do that for me?” 

“You bet your ass he will,” Dean answers.  He’s already compiling a list of possible blackmail options to make sure Sam cooperates because he knows bribery isn’t going to be enough in this instance. 

The promise is enough to turn her into a bouncing ball of nervous energy, and she takes off quickly, mumbling something about _being ready for the occasion._ Dean would feel bad about dragging Sam into this mess, but he’s too pissed at Cas to really think about it. 

He spins around to confront the demon who is still close on his heels.  “I don’t know what the fuck that was,” Dean hisses.  “But you will _never_ do that again.” 

Cas glares back at him defiantly.  “You are not hers to touch.” 

There are so many things wrong with that statement that Dean can’t parse them until he’s calmed down.  He takes a deep breath and let’s it out in a long, controlled sigh.  Some of the tension eases out of his shoulders.  “Okay, we’re going to talk about that,” he says far more calmly than he feels.  “But not right now.  Let’s get out of here.” 

He grabs the cart, and makes his way to an open register.  The young man scanning the groceries keeps throwing fearful glances at Cas, but doesn’t comment, much to Dean’s gratitude. 

They make it outside, get the groceries into the trunk of the car, and drive all the way back to Dean’s apartment without incident.  The silence between them is strained, and Dean’s anger is only aggravated by it. 

But he doesn’t say a word until the last of the food is put away.   

When he turns to confront Cas, the demon is still standing closer than he should, and Dean’s anger finally boils over.  “What _the fuck_ was that all about?” 

It’s like his words have unleashed a wild animal.  Cas is immediately on him, kissing him so hard that Dean tastes a hint of copper tainting Cas’ venom when his lips are caught against his teeth.  The familiar honey and cloves overwhelms Dean’s senses, and his muscles go weak, allowing Cas to press him up against the door of the fridge.   

“You are not hers,” Cas snarls against his mouth as his wandering hands start tugging at the fastening of Dean’s pants.  “You are _mine._ ” 

“Cas-”  He’s interrupted by another kiss, and when Cas’ tongue pushes past his lips and presses against his own, he whimpers.  His hands come up to tangle in Cas’ hair, holding him in place, and keeping their mouths sealed together so that he can suck on that sinful tongue.   

He’s rock hard in his jeans, and when hot hands finally push his pants down enough to free his erection, Dean’s hips jerk helplessly against the cool air.  It’s only for a moment and then Cas is stroking him, more roughly than is necessarily comfortable without lube, but the tight squeeze of his fingers sends fire racing through every nerve in Dean’s body. 

Or maybe that’s the venom.   

“Take your shirt off,” Cas demands, his words garbled by the press of their mouths together. 

It takes a supreme effort of will to release the silky strands between his fingers, but the thought of baring his skin to Cas’ mouth finally gets him to let go and do as he’s told.  He’s quick to pull the shirt off over his head because he doesn’t want to lose contact with Cas’ lips for very long.  But Cas takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, and opens his mouth over the muscle on Dean’s chest. 

Sharp teeth sink into Dean’s flesh with barely a sting, and venom is flooding directly into his blood.  He thumps his head back against the fridge, and vaguely he hears a few magnets knock loose and fall to the floor, but the building could fall down around him and he couldn’t care less.  Not with Cas’ hand on his dick and mouth on his skin. 

Cas licks away the blood as it beads up from the punctures and lifts his head to look at Dean.  It glistens red and sticky on his lips, and Dean stares at them hungrily as they move around words he has to concentrate to understand through his haze of lust. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Cas demands.  His tongue flicks out, picking up droplets of blood from his top lip. 

At this point, Dean _should_ be hearing warning bells.  But instead, all he’s hearing is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.   

“Say it.” 

“I’m…” he chokes on the words when Cas’ thumb swipes through the precum beading at the head of his dick. 

Cas bares his teeth in a snarl, and suddenly the firm pressure of his hand is gone.  Dean only has a second to register the loss before Cas is spinning him around and slamming him face first into the fridge door.  A magnet made of beer caps that he’d collected from his college graduation party digs painfully into his cheek, but the venom running through his veins warps the signal and the sensation ratchets his lust up a few notches. 

Two fingers press against his mouth, and he opens to them.  He doesn’t need to be told to suck on them.  His lips wrap around the digits of their own accord and his eyes slip closed.  Cas presses full-bodied against his back, a wall of heat making sweat break out all over his skin.   

“I have wanted to watch those pretty pink lips wrap around my cock all morning,” Cas murmurs against his ear.  “But this will have to do for now.” 

Dean whimpers and runs his tongue between Cas’ fingers, before resuming sucking on them.  He feels pressure against the bandages on his shoulder, and he flinches when they’re pulled away quickly, one at a time.   

Cas runs his tongue over the healing bites several times before kissing each one.  In contrast to the rough way he’s been handling Dean for the last few minutes, the kisses are gentle, barely there brushes against the tender flesh.   

Dean is so focused on Cas’ mouth, that he doesn’t realize the fingers have disappeared from his own until he feels them pressing wet and insistent between his ass cheeks.  Despite the fact that he had decided earlier that he wasn’t going to ever let Cas fuck him again, Dean moans and spreads his legs as far as the jeans wrapped around his thighs will let him.  

“That’s it, pet.  Sing me your pretty song,” Cas murmurs.  He says something else in demonic that Dean is too strung out to translate. 

His hole opens eagerly for Cas’ fingers, and Dean cries out his pleasure when he feels the stretch.  He doesn’t even realize that he’s thrusting back against Cas until the demon whispers calming words against his ear. 

“Cas,” he whines.  “Please… I need… I...” 

“Shh… I know.”  Cas pulls his fingers out, making Dean arch his back and grunt out a wordless protest.  Dean hears him spitting, and the slick sound of skin on skin, and then the fingers are replaced by the blunt head of Cas’ dick. 

The venom eases away any discomfort Dean might feel at the sudden stretch, and without thinking, Dean pushes back.  He sucks in a surprised breath and goes still at the sudden intrusion.

Cas tsks against his ear.  “Careful… I do not wish to hurt you.” 

“It doesn’t… you didn’t…” He barely manages to get the words out with lips and tongue that are tingling from Cas’ venom.  He bites his bottom lip, and twitches his hips.  “Cas please.” 

“Tell me you’re mine.”  Cas licks the crease behind Dean’s ear, and blows warm air over the sensitized skin.  “And I’ll give you what you want.” 

Somewhere deep inside, Dean’s stubborn nature rears its head.  “I’m not your pet,” he grits out. 

“No,” Cas whispers, his words nearly inaudible despite how close they’re spoken to Dean’s ear.  “You’re more than that.  Say it, human.” 

Dean clamps his mouth shut against the urge to let the words spill out.   _Y_ _ours._ _Mate._ And most dangerous of all: _Dean._  

Cas pulls his hips back, sliding slowly out of Dean’s ass.  The drag of his dick against Dean’s rim has him making sounds that he will deny to his dying day that he’s even capable of.  

“Do you want my cock?” Cas asks. 

The air is thick with the scent of honey and cloves and sweat, and Dean drags it in through his nose, fills his lungs with it.  Opens his mouth.  “Fuck you,” he pants. 

He cries out when Cas slams back into him, shoving him hard into the door of the fridge again.   

“I believe it is me that is fucking you.”  Cas emphasizes his point by rotating his hips, putting pressure on Dean’s prostate and chuckling darkly when Dean whines. 

“Yeah?  Well get the fuck on with it then,” Dean taunts.  

That seems to finally push Cas past the breaking point of his temper.  With a dangerous growl, he grabs Dean’s hips, angling them back and up, bending the base of his spine until he’s practically presenting his ass.  And then Cas is slamming into him with hard and ruthless strokes while Dean does his best to meet each one. 

He wants to reach down and touch himself but he needs both hands braced against the fridge in order to push himself back onto Cas’ cock, and he’s _so fucking close-_  

Cas slams into him hard enough that his grip on the fridge slips and his whole body is thrust against the cold metal door.  The friction of his dick being pressed between his belly and the fridge, combined with Cas pumping cum into his ass sends him over the edge and he yells so hard he feels something strain in his throat as his own orgasm washes over him. 

His world goes fuzzy around the edges, and his body slumps against the fridge, with only the pressure of Cas’ body against his holding him up.  He doesn’t protest when Cas lifts him in his arms (although he’s distantly impressed, because Dean knows he’s not a small man by any stretch of the imagination), and carries him into the bedroom.   

The same hands that squeezed bruises into his hips now tug gently at the rest of his clothing, removing his shoes and socks, pants and boxers, and leaving him bare.  The bedspread feels cool against his overheated skin, and Dean curls onto his side, pulling the blanket up under his chin and letting his eyes slide closed. 

“Don’t sleep yet,” Cas says softly near his temple, sweet-scented breath cool against the drying sweat matting his hair.  “I’m going to bring you something to eat.” 

Dean mumbles his agreement, but doesn’t actually obey.  He’s awoken from a doze by Cas’ hand cupping his face, and he blinks groggily at the demon.  It takes more coaxing to get him to sit up, and unlike the last time Cas brought him breakfast, this time Dean is too tired to stop him from feeding him. 

He alternates between bites of oatmeal that is buttery and salty instead of sweetened the way he normally makes it for himself, and sips of apple juice.  Cas makes him finish the whole bowl and two glasses of juice before he’s satisfied that Dean has had enough.  With his stomach pleasantly full, and his body still buzzing lightly from the lingering venom in his system, he is unable and even unwilling to protest when Cas pushes him back down into the pillows and blankets. 

“Sleep now,” Cas says quietly as he runs his nails lightly over Dean’s scalp, relaxing him even further.  “I’ll watch over you.” 

Dean still needs to call Sam, and he definitely needs to talk to Cas about his overly protective behavior.  But those things will have to wait.  Exhaustion makes his body feel heavy, and his thoughts slow down to a snail’s crawl.  The last thing he remembers before falling back to sleep is feeling the brush of Cas’ lips against his eyelids, and soft words spoken in demonic. 

This time he recognizes them despite the sleep tugging insistently at his brain. 

“ _Sleep well, my mate.”_  

Yeah, as soon as he wakes up, they’re gonna have that talk. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mpreg mention.

When one falls asleep with a sex demon in the vicinity, one should not be surprised to wake up in a compromising position.  Yet when Dean wakes up from an absolutely filthy dream, surfing the crest of an orgasm, he's still startled to realize he's actually coming down someone's throat.  If Cas wasn't sprawled over his legs, Dean definitely would be flailing in surprise.

His body arches off the bed as far as it's allowed under Cas' weight, and Dean's hands scramble for purchase, one tangling in the nest of sheets under him, and the other threading through the silky locks of Cas' hair.  His grip doesn’t loosen until the waves of pleasure finally start to recede but he doesn't let go, instead petting Cas, running his nails lightly over the demon's scalp.  He's rewarded for the attention by a rumbling purr.

He blinks up at the ceiling while his heartbeat calms and his breathing evens out, and wonders just what the hell he's gotten himself into.  Waking up to a blowjob is awesome - he is definitely not gonna complain about that even if Cas isn't the gender he prefers - but what's really got him confused is the way Cas is acting now.

After licking Dean's dick clean, Cas starts pressing feather light kisses against Dean's groin, pausing now and then to rub his nose through Dean's pubic hair.  It's arousing enough that Dean's dick twitches with interest every now and then, but he has the feeling that Cas isn't trying to turn him on, and _thank fuck_ because there’s a warning ache in his groin that says he needs some more cool down time.

The kisses move up over Dean's lower belly, and Cas nuzzles the skin there.  He's murmuring something in Demonic about how beautiful it would be stretching tight over the swell of their offspring.

For a split second the idea of bearing Cas' child sends tendrils of warmth curling around Dean's heart.  But then he goes still, his blood running cold when he realizes just what kind of thoughts are going through his head.

Whether it's because every muscle in Dean's body locks up tight or because the petting stops is unclear, but Cas notices Dean's reaction.  He lifts his head, his eyes narrow with confusion.  "What is it Jensen?"

Propping himself up on his elbows so he can glare at the demon properly, Dean opens his mouth to give Cas a piece of his mind about the pregnancy thing - he's not even capable, so what the fuck?? - But his train of thought is derailed by the name.  "What the fuck kind of name is ‘Jensen’?" He demands instead.

"A handsome one," Cas responds with a tiny grin.

The answer is so matter of fact - _duh Dean, of course, please keep up with your tiny brain_ \- that all he can do is stare blankly at the (smug) demon for a moment while he tries to remember exactly why he has a problem with the name.  Then his brow comes down in a glare and he points a finger at the tip of Cas' nose.  "No," he snaps, like he's reprimanding a misbehaving puppy.

Cas' eyes cross when he looks down at Dean's finger.  He lifts his glowing gaze to Dean's, arches one dark brow, and then slowly and deliberately takes the digit between his lips and sucks.

Blood rushes straight from Dean's brain to his dick, making the room spin for a moment.  He jerks his hand away.  "God Dammit, Cas!"

"If you don't like 'Jensen'," Cas drawls casually as he turns his attention to Dean's dick, examining it like he's trying to calculate the best angle to start licking from, "we could try 'Jared'."

"No!"

"'Dmitri'?"

"Cas-"

"No, we can't use my name," Cas interrupts.  He grins cheekily, looking up at Dean through the dark fan of his lashes.  "That might get confusing if we are both screaming the same name while we fuck."

Dean stares at him, dumbfounded.  He wants to be pissed at the demon; to give him a piece of his mind about the names and the mate thing and the baby talk.  But instead a laugh bubbles up in his chest.  It's skirts the edge of hysterics, bringing tears to his eyes.  He drops onto his back and let's the laughter run its course.

He rubs the moisture out of his eyes and angles his chin down so he can look at Cas, who is still a heavy weight over his legs, and looking far too pleased with himself.  A tiny swell of affection takes Dean by surprise.  He tamps it down, and clears his throat.  "Uh, what time is it?"

It's not what he planned to say.  But he's reluctant to break the fragile moment by bringing up more serious subjects.

Cas pushes himself to his knees, freeing Dean from his weight.  "It is time for your midday meal." He leans down to press a kiss over a new bandage hiding his latest bite mark on Dean's chest before scrambling out of bed and striding naked out of the room.  "Stay. I will bring it to you," he calls over his shoulder.

Dean almost doesn't catch that last command because his attention is snared by the sight of Cas' nude body flexing with his movements.  His mouth practically waters, and he actually catches himself licking his lips, hoping to catch the flavor of honey and cloves.

"Fuck me," he mutters darkly once he's alone.  He sits up, glares down at his half-hard dick, and adds "Traitor." 

His eyes catch on the bandage on his chest.  Cas must have done it while Dean was sleeping, which is a little disturbing because he's not a light sleeper, and he thinks that's something that should have woken him up.  He fingers the edge the bandage, smoothing his thumb over the tape.  Just that small pressure near the wound is enough to make it ache, even as he shudders at the pleasure that shoots straight to his dick.

His good mood fades completely, and he knows he can't put off talking to Cas anymore.  He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands.  “Hey, Cas-”

Or at least he tries to stand.  His legs won't hold his weight, and he collapses, letting out a grunt of pain when his knees hit the floor.  Vertigo is quick to follow, and he closes his eyes against the room spinning around him.  He swallows against a wave of nausea and takes short breaths through his nose until it passes.

Almost immediately, Cas is at his side.  His touch is gentle when he wraps an arm around Dean's shoulders, and uses his other hand to lift Dean's chin.  "What's wrong?"

Slitting his eyes open, Dean can see that Cas looks as scared as he sounds.  His pupils are almost completely round, and his eyes flick back and forth over Dean's face.

Dean blinks a few times, and the spinning stops.  His stomach still feels unsettled, but whatever caused it seems to be passing.  “I dunno,” he manages.  “I think I stood up too fast.”

Cas doesn’t look like his words are reassuring him.  He hooks a shoulder under Dean’s arm and lifts him up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.  Once Dean is seated, Cas cups his face, turning it from side to side before deciding that whatever the fuck he’s looking for isn’t there, and his hands start exploring the rest of Dean’s body.  First he probes gently around Dean’s neck, then runs his fingers over Dean’s shoulders and chest.  They pause over the new bandage, not quite touching it.  Cas bites his bottom lip, glancing up at Dean with clear worry shining from his eyes.

Dean brushes his hands away.  “Calm down, Cas, I’m fine now.”  He hates being fussed over, and he is feeling better.  The dizziness and nausea have passed, to be replaced by ravenous hunger.  “I just need to get some food in me and I’ll be fine.”

That seems to be enough for Cas.  He still looks worried, but he relaxes a little.  “What would you like me to make for you to eat?”

“You don’t have to make all my meals,” Dean grouches.  He stands, carefully this time so there’s no sudden vertigo.  He does feel a little light headed still, but it’s nothing next to the gnawing hunger in his belly.   

Yeah, a serious talk is going to have to wait.  Food first.

His feet want to take him straight to the fridge, but he stops at his dresser and pulls out some clothes.  Two sets of boxers, two sets of sweatpants, and two t-shirts, muttering to himself about the cost of laundry and how much more of it he’s going to have to do if he’s sharing with Cas.  He tosses one set at Cas, who just barely manages to catch them.  He grins when Cas frowns ominously at the items of clothing.  “Put ‘em on, Cas.  Cooking naked can be hazardous to your health.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to cook for you,” Cas grumbles, but he still stoops down to pull on the boxers.

“Seriously dude,” Dean says as he tugs his own clothing into place.  “No walking around naked in the kitchen.  It’s unsanitary.”

Which reminds him of the way Cas had fucked him up against the fridge.  He wrinkles his nose at the memory.  That’s going to need to be cleaned up before any food gets prepared.

Before he leaves his room, he casts around until he finds where Cas left his jeans after stripping him down earlier.  Grabbing them, he digs his phone out of the pocket and sends a text to his brother.

~ _Hey, do me a favor and take some healing creams over to Becky’s place today.  She had an accident and has some nasty bruises.  I’ll totally owe you one_.

He tucks the phone in the pocket of his sweat pants, and heads for the kitchen.  Sam is probably in class, so he doesn’t expect an immediate reply.

He’s pleased to find that Cas seems to have cleaned up whatever mess they made that morning.  There’s not even any dirty dishes from when he prepared the oatmeal, although they are sitting in the drying rack next to the sink as evidence that Cas made him breakfast.

“Thanks for cleaning up in here,” Dean says as he starts taking out the things he needs to make sandwiches.  He has to look away from Cas' proud smile because it makes that tiny kernel of affection near his heart pulse and grow a size.

The kitchen is Dean’s favorite room in the apartment.  It is open to the living room, which makes it seem larger than it is.  There's an island with extra storage underneath and room for four stools around it so that he doesn’t have to set up a table and chairs, giving him even more room in the open floored apartment.

Cas settles onto one of the stools to watch Dean assemble a sandwich with mayo, lettuce, pickles, meat, and cheese, his brow wrinkled with bemusement.  Dean pauses in layering ham and turkey on the bread and eyes the demon.  “Do you want one?”

“No, thank you.”  The derision in his voice makes it sound like Dean offered him a bowl of mealworms instead of a sandwich.

Dean rolls his eyes, but shrugs it off.  More for him, then.  He shoves a piece of ham in his mouth, and nearly moans when the salty flavor spreads over his tongue.  Damn, he is starving.

He puts everything away, and then goes back to claim his prize.  The sandwich is nearly too thick to bite through, but he’s a trooper and manages anyway.  If Sam were around he’d probably give Dean shit for looking like a chipmunk.  He washes each bite down with rootbeer, enjoying its sugary bite against his tastebuds.  

Cas watches him with a wrinkled nose, but there’s a spark of curiosity in the depths of his eyes.  Dean holds out the can of rootbeer in silent offer.  He’s not sure why he keeps trying to push the demon into trying human food, but he’s not going to stop.  Food is too good not to want to share it with those you care about-

-er… _with friends_.  Yeah, food is too good not to share _with friends_.

Despite the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’s even put a dent in his hunger, he sets the sandwich down.  He swallows, too soon so the bite goes down his throat in a too large lump which he has to clear with another swig of soda.  He coughs a little, and pins Cas with what he hopes is a stern look.  “Okay, Cas… we gotta talk.”

Cas eyes Dean curiously.  “What about?”

Here goes nothing.  “About what you called me-”

“I know you don’t like the names I’ve chosen so far,” Cas says.

“That’s not-”

“But what do you think of ‘Michael’?”

All thoughts of asking Cas what he meant when he called him “mate” fly right out of Dean’s head.  “What?”

“It’s the name of a very powerful being,” Cas continues as if he doesn’t notice that Dean is about to have a heart attack.  “I think it suits you.”

Dean is vaguely aware that he's doing an impression of a fish out of water, but every time he opens his mouth to speak, he realizes he doesn't know what to say and closes it again.  It's not until Cas starts looking at him like he wants to bundle him off to bed again and coddle him through whatever is ailing him that Dean forces words out.  "Uh yeah, Michael is- I mean you can call me-" he stops and huffs in annoyance, rubbing a hand over his face while he tries to gather his thoughts.

He didn't think Cas would guess even part of his Name correctly, which he realizes now is completely stupid.  Michael is one of the most popular men's names in the United States, second only to John.

Once again he was thinking with his dick instead of his head when he agreed to their deal.  Something he's been doing far too often lately.  And it keeps coming back to bite him in the ass, so he hopes he learns some kind of damn lesson from this before his next mistake happens with a less friendly monster than the incubus sitting in his kitchen.

Time to face the music and keep up his end of the bargain though.  He drops his hand and forces himself to look at Cas.  "'Michael' is half of my True Name," he admits, his voice husky with reluctance.

Cas' pupils were already wide with worry, but now they shoot wide, eclipsing both the blue of his irises and the whites surrounding them.  The sight of those eyes going fully black sends a shiver of terror down Dean's spine, and sweat breaks out on his skin.

When a demon's eyes go black, that's when the trouble really starts.  They're at their most deadly.  Hunters that don't have inherent magical abilities are usually eaten pretty quickly at that point, and even most mages are hard pressed to survive an attack if they don't take special training on summoning and banishing Hell creatures.

Dean's special abilities as a Warlock means he usually deals with demons that are already bound up in his magic, so he rarely faces that kind of danger.  He traps them and banishes them, collects his dues, and goes on his merry way.  But he doesn't underestimate the risk.  He's had his share of close calls, and he's seen more experienced Warlocks than himself fall to a demon's teeth and claws.

"Cas?" He says warily.  A banishment spell is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back.  Cas swore not to use his Name against him, and he trusts him to keep his word.

That doesn't mean Cas can't hurt him in other ways, and he mentally kicks himself for forgetting that fact.

The demon gets slowly to his feet, and pads silently around the island.  His muscles are coiled with suppressed motion, reminding Dean of all the nature shows he and Sam used to watch as kids where huge wildcats stalked their prey.  It never ended well for the innocent herbivores, and he has a feeling it won't end well for him.

Dean swallows and takes a step back, preparing to make what he knows will be a futile run for safety.  

Moving so quickly he almost blurs in Dean's vision, Cas closes the remaining space between them.  Dean finds himself held fast, one strong arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and a hand clutching the nape of his neck.  Cas forces his head to the side and leans forward, opening his mouth.  Dean glimpses the wet gleam of fangs and oh god, his time is up.  Cas has finally decided he’s hungry, and Dean is the meal.  He hopes there will be enough of him left over after this for his family to identify him.

But Cas doesn't bite him.  He licks a long stripe along the wildly fluttering pulse at the base of Dean's neck, then buries his nose behind his ear.  He inhales deeply, exhales slowly, his breath hot and damp against Dean's skin.

"Michael," he whispers in Dean's ear, his lips close enough to tickle.  And then in Demonic, " _mine_."

This time when Dean shivers it's from arousal, although it's still laced with fear.  His heart is beating a staccato under his ribs, and his breaths are coming short and shallow.  His muscles twitch with the need to run, but he retains enough control over himself to know that would be the worst thing he could do.

One of the cardinal rules when dealing with monsters, demonic or not: Never run. Running is guaranteed to gain their attention.  They _will_ give chase.

An attempt to escape right now could lead to Cas catching him and fucking him silly, or catching him and making him a meal.  Either way he doubts he'll escape.  And if he can't get away anyway, at least he can try to steer Cas towards the fucking option.

He tells himself it's because that's the safest option, and not because the idea of Cas fucking him into a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor is highly appealing right now.  He's hard enough to pound nails just at the thought, and even though Cas had already wrung several orgasms out of him today, his body is humming eagerly for more.

"Cas?" He whispers when the demon continues to nuzzle him and nip and lick at his ear.  "Uh, you're not going to eat me are you?  'Cuz I'm seriously starting to worry here."

"Yes."  

Teeth scrape against Dean's pulse, but don't break the skin.  He tenses, locking his knees against the instinct to escape.  "The sexy kind of eating, right?"

Cas releases his grip on Dean’s nape, and hands slip under Dean's clothes, one tracing a path over the bumps of Dean's spine, and the other slipping under the waistband of his pants and underwear to squeeze his ass.  He pulls their bodies flush, and their dicks slot together through the confining layers of clothing separating them.

At the moment Dean totally gets Cas' aversion to pants, and he kinda wishes for the easy access allowed by his robes.

He lets out a helpless sound when Cas' thumb delves into the cleft between his ass cheeks and presses against his hole.  His hips twitch back against the touch, but he immediately misses the pressure of Cas' belly against his dick.  He rolls his hips forward and back trying to get friction in both places.

"Cas," he whines.

The demon responds by pulling back enough to capture Dean's mouth with his own.  Dean catches just a glimpse of Cas' black eyes before his own slip shut.  He sucks eagerly on Cas' invading tongue, eager for a taste of his venom.

Euphoria rushes through him as the venom enters his system, and his knees go weak.  His body collapses into Cas' embrace.  When he feels Cas start to lower him to the floor, he breaks away from the kiss long enough to gasp "Not in the kitchen!" 

Because fuck if he wants to get up close and personal with the tiles.  That’ll kill his knees or his back, or whatever, depending on how Cas decides to fuck him.

He's hoisted up, and his legs eagerly wrap around Cas' waist, and his arms around his shoulders.  The display of strength sends a thrill of adrenaline-tinged excitement through him.

Cas carries him as far as the living room and lowers him onto the couch, somehow managing to do so without separating their mouths.  His weight comes down on Dean, pressing him deeper into the cushions.

It should feel confining, but Dean relishes the warmth above him, and attempts to pull him closer.  He's far past coherent thought now, high on venom and buzzing with lust.  When Cas pulls away, he grunts in protest and tightens his grip, but when he realizes Cas is attempting to remove his clothing, he redirects his energy toward helping.

Once Dean is naked, Cas hooks his hands hands under Dean's knees, pressing them up tight against his chest.  Cas' black eyes glitter dangerously as he takes a moment to run them over Dean's exposed body, but then he's crouching down and spearing Dean's hole open with his tongue.

Dean shouts and tries to arch up against Cas' mouth, but he's held immobile by inhumanly strong hands.  His are free though, and he takes advantage of that by grabbing his dick in one hand and a handful of Cas' hair in the other.

Cas presses his tongue deeper, spreading his venom as deep as possible, slicking Dean's entrance.  After a moment he stops despite Dean's attempts to hold him in place.  He sucks Dean's balls into his mouth, careful of the sharp edges of his teeth.

All the air is punched out of Dean's lungs, and he comes hard, spurting hot and wet all over his belly, which Cas moves to lick up.  He’s murmuring in demonic between long laps of his tongue.  “ _My beautiful mate.  Mine forever.”_  

Dean is so lost in a haze of lust, that he loses control of his mouth, babbling.  “Yes… fuck, Cas, _yes._ ” 

Cas surges up over him, and guides the blunt head of his dick to Dean’s hole.  His pitch black eyes capture Dean’s, holding his gaze as he presses his hips forward.  “Say it,” he demands in English. 

Being split open on a thick cock is distracting, and Dean barely understands the words, even though they’re in his own language.   

Once he’s buried as deep as he can go, Cas hooks Dean’s knees over his shoulders, and leans forward.  The motion bends Dean practically in half, and he can feel the strain in his spine, but his hands scrabble for Cas’ shoulders in an attempt to pull him even closer.   

“Say it,” Cas demands again.  “Tell me you belong to me.” 

“‘m yours,” Dean finally mumbles through tingling lips.  Pins and needles prickle through his fingers and toes, and they curl involuntarily when Cas somehow manages to press even deeper.  “ _Fuck yes, please fuck me,_ ” he barks. 

Apparently satisfied with Dean’s words, Cas finally starts to move.  He fucks Dean hard and fast and punishing while crooning endearments in multiple languages as Dean falls apart beneath him.  Cas leans down and presses his tongue past Dean’s lips, flooding him with another hit of venom. 

An orgasm boils up from Dean’s groin, and he feels himself clench down on Cas’ dick.  The relentless churning of his pelvis against Dean’s ass finally stutters to a stop, and he releases Dean’s mouth, lifting his head enough that their gazes can meet.  “Michael.”  He breathes it like a prayer.  “ _My Michael_.” 

Dean is caught, unable to look away from those black depths.  Up close, they fill his vision, and it feels like looking into infinity.  Cas’ honey tinted breath fills him with each desperate pump of his lungs, and all Dean can think is that he _wants_ to belong to Cas.   _Needs_ to belong to him.   

Forgetting about the spell he cast, Dean opens his mouth, his first name on the tip of his tongue.  But then Cas is coming, flooding his system with heat.  Dean’s brain short circuits as another orgasm rips through him. 

The room spins wildly, and he clenches his eyes closed as his body pulses with pleasure bordering on pain.  Being unable to see his surroundings doesn’t seem to help, and he would be reminded of some less than pleasant drunken escapades that ended with nights spent moaning through horrible cases of the spins, but that would require more focus than his brain is currently capable of sustaining. 

He feels Cas shift them so they’re lying on their sides.  He whines when Cas’ dick slips free of his body, and is only soothed when Cas starts whispering in his ear.  He can’t parse the words, although every now and then he catches _Michael_ in the litany.  

Cas gets up at some point and comes back with a glass of water which he presses against Dean’s bottom lip until he opens his mouth.  The water is dribbled into his mouth in a slow trickle, but the strange tingling in his lips makes it difficult not to lose some of it in tiny rivulets that run from the corners of his mouth.  When he finishes, Cas brings him another, holding his head steady and making him finish the whole thing. 

Once he’s finished the water, the fog around his thoughts starts to lift, but he still feels lethargic and sleepy.  Cas comes back and curls around him, wedging Dean’s body between his own and the back of the couch.   

Unlike earlier, he struggles against falling asleep.  He wants to be awake for every gentle touch of Cas’ fingers and lips.  He needs to hear all the praise whispered against his temple, even if it is in demonic.  Every soft “ _mine_ ” or “ _mate_ ” making him want to burrow deeper into Cas’ embrace. 

Distantly, he’s aware of time passing slowly.  The light in the room changes as the sun angles toward the Western horizon, and every hour he hears the beep of his watch from where he left it on top of his dresser.   

When his stomach rumbles Cas gets up again and returns with a plate of food.  Too lethargic to argue, Dean allows Cas to feed him bites of sandwich meat, cheeses, and slices of apples until his appetite is soothed.  Afterwards, Cas sets the plate aside and wraps himself around Dean again like warm man shaped blanket.   

At some point during the strange, lazy afternoon Dean’s phone buzzes from the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, but he can’t muster up the motivation to do anything about it.  Whoever it is eventually gives up after a few calls, and the room falls silent again. 

After enough hours have passed that the room is beginning to dim with the onset of evening, Dean finally musters the energy to talk.  “Cas?” 

“Yes, Michael?” 

Hearing Cas speak even part of his name makes his heart flutter wildly, but it isn’t with fear anymore.   

“Why do you keep calling me ‘mate’?” he mumbles.  The tingling feeling in his lips receded long ago, but they still feel swollen and clumsy. 

The fingers that Cas had been combing through Dean’s hair pause, but only for a heartbeat before resuming their gentle petting.  “You understand my language.” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Dean answers in demonic.  With its hard consonants and rolling vowels, it is a difficult language, so he’s careful to enunciate.  “ _I know a lot of languages._ ”  He switches back to English.  “I figured it would be helpful in my line of work.” 

“And what is it you do, Michael?” 

Every time Cas says his name, a frisson of pleasure chases down Dean’s spine, but he ignores it and slants a suspicious look at the demon.  “Don’t change the subject.  Tell me what’s going on, Cas.” 

Cas’ pupils have contracted again to narrow slits amid glowing blue, and it’s easy to see when he looks away.  Sharp teeth play at the edge of his bottom lip, and he actually looks nervous.   

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean prompts.  He assumes from Cas’ reaction, that he’s probably not going to like what he’s going to hear, but he’s feeling too warm and comfortable to get worked up about it.  “Talk to me.” 

Before Cas can speak, there’s a rattle of a key in the door, bringing both of their attention across the room. 

“Hey Dean!” Sam calls as he sticks his head through the door.  “What the hell is this about-”  He breaks off with a yelp when his eyes land on Dean and Cas, naked and entangled on the couch.  “Holy shit!” 

Dean closes his eyes on a groan.  Fuck his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Last week was unexpectedly busy and I didn't really have time to write. Hopefully I'll be back on my once-a-week-minimum posting schedule now. 
> 
> Also, the name game Cas has been playing totally amuses me. I think I'm funny.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I would just like to draw your attention back to the rape/non-con tag as a reminder that this fic is problematic as fuck. I apologize in advance if Dean's attitude in this chapter makes you feel uncomfortable. It made me uncomfortable to write it. Please don't send me angry messages, k? Thank you, I love you *smooches*
> 
> ((Side note: I have no problem _reading_ problematic things, but writing them is still waaaay outside my comfort zone. My brain is weird.))

Dean has a split second to be grateful that this time when Cas sneezes it isn’t directly in his face, and then all hell breaks loose.  A vicious growl is the only warning he gets that Sam is in serious danger, but it’s enough to prompt him to wrap himself around Cas, winding one arm around his neck and the other around the barrel of his chest.  He only manages to hook one leg around the back of Cas’ knee. 

In no way is he strong enough to hold a pissed off demon in place, and he knows it, so he gambles on the fact that Cas won't hurt him in an attempt to get at Sam.  “Cas!” he snaps, “If you eat my brother, so help me I will banish you so far out of this universe, Satan’s asshole will look like a sunny beach in comparison.” 

Cas goes still, although all his muscles are taught with the threat of jumping up from the couch and laying into Sam with the fancy set of chompers he’s currently baring in a threatening snarl.  It shouldn't be hot, but Dean's body is like a tuning fork set at Cas' frequency, and his blood starts to hum with lowkey arousal.   

Dammit, if he pops a boner in front of Sam, he might just banish _himself_ to hell.  Burning in agony for eternity can't be any worse than that embarrassment. 

"I will not allow you him to endanger you," Cas growls. 

A quick look at his brother sparks a sense of pride.  Despite having less experience with monsters than Dean, Sam is prepared for the threat.  Flames engulf his hands, crackling blue with power.  If Dean can't hold Cas, Sam won't go down without a fight. 

Sam's eyes are glued to Cas, wary but unafraid.  "Dean?  What's going on?" 

A sneeze interrupts Cas' threatening growl.  Unconsciously, Dean's fingers caress the demon's skin in a soothing gesture and he hopes Cas isn't getting sick.  The thought is fleeting though since he's got more important things to worry about at the moment, including how to get back into his clothes without Cas and Sam trying to kill each other first. 

"Turn off the light show, Sammy," Dean says in a calmer tone.  "Cas here is just being overprotective." 

Sam looks at him like he's several cards short of a deck.  "You're kidding, right?  He's unbound!  Tell me you're kidding!"   

Of course Sam would notice right away that Cas is a demon.  Kid is too smart for his own good. 

"He's not gonna hurt me." He's mostly sure that's true.  Sore muscles and a few bite marks don't really count as injury if he likes it, right? 

"He looks like he's planning on hurting _me_ ," Sam counters. 

Oh for fuck's sake.  Dean is not in the mood to deal with this bullshit.  With a grunt of effort he heaves Cas off him, smiling when the demon tumbles to the floor with a surprised yelp and a satisfying thump.  He sits up and looks around to find where Cas dumped his clothes. 

Sam, no longer shielded from Dean's nudity by the demon's body, let's out an unmanly squeak of his own, and spins around to shield his delicate sensibilities.  He loses his grip on his magic, and the blue flames go out with a _whoomph._ "Jesus, you're naked!" 

"Brilliant deduction, Watson," Dean says dryly.  He sees his discarded sweat pants near his feet and grabs them, tugging them out from under Cas' prone form.   

Cas looks up at him as he pushes to a kneeling position next to the couch, eyes wide and confused, and Dean feels like he just kicked a puppy.  He sighs, leans forward to comb his fingers through Cas' hair until he can cup the back of his head and pull him close.  He presses a light kiss to the crease between Cas' dark brows, and smiles when he feels the skin smooth out beneath his lips. 

Later he'll take five to think about what the fuck he's doing offering comfort to an incubus, but for now he's gotta diffuse the situation.  Monster calmed down, check.  Brother's flames doused, check. Pants - Dean shoves both feet into his sweats and stands, pulling them up over his hips, and ignoring the brief moment in which the world tilts on its axis - check. 

"Alright, I'm decent," he says to Sam. 

He forgot Cas' nudity, but is reminded when his brother turns and immediately averts his eyes to the ceiling.  "Dammit, Dean! Make your pet put some clothes on." 

"He's not my 'pet'," Dean gripes over Cas' sneeze and irritated grumbling.  He shoots an apologetic look at the demon for the slur.   

"Sorry, 'companion', or whatever." Sam rolls his eyes, the move ending in a quick glare at Dean before he focuses on the ceiling again. 

Dean gestures at Cas' discarded clothing, silently encouraging him to dress, but can't resist teasing Sam a little.  "Prude." 

"It's not like I expected to find you buck-ass naked," Sam says on an irritated huff.  He shoots a meaningful look at Cas, his cheeks flushing apple red.  "With _a guy."_  

Dean groans.  Of course Sam is going to want to talk about _that._  

“Who else would he be with?”  The threat level in Cas’ tone is turned up to eleven. 

Sam finally looks down, his eyes flicking between them cautiously to make sure he isn’t going to get an eyeful.  They settle briefly on the bite mark on Dean’s chest, the crease between his brows is a red flag, signalling to Dean that he’s going to get the lecture of a lifetime.  He ignores Cas’ question, and directs his words to Dean.  “So, I heard the most interesting story from Becky.” 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters.  “I’m going to need a beer for this conversation.” 

He turns to make his way to the kitchen, grabbing Cas’ wrist and dragging him in his wake.  He’s not letting the demon out of reaching distance while he’s still glaring daggers at Sam.  The aggressively possessive behavior he’d displayed with Becky is amplified by Sam’s presence, and he’s not sure why.   

Cas doesn’t resist, following him closely and doing his best to keep himself between Dean and Sam.  Dean rolls his eyes.  “Cas, turn down the amplitude, dude.  He’s my brother.”   

Glowing blue eyes regard Dean seriously from beneath lowered brows.  “Siblings are a danger.” 

“Maybe where you come from,” Dean mutters.  He drops Cas’ hand, and reaches for the fridge door, grabbing two beers.  He’s glad he stocked up.  “Here, they’re just obnoxious brats that raid my fridge and cheat at video games.” 

“Hey!” Sam objects.  “You’re the one who always gives me the broken controller.”  He’s still watching Cas warily, but the tension in his shoulders has eased somewhat.  He catches the beer can Dean tosses to him in one hand.  There are a million questions swirling frantically behind his eyes, but he casually pulls the tab on the can and knocks back three long swallows. 

Dean almost warns him against getting drunk, but shrugs and downs most of his own beer.  He has a feeling that the conversation they’re about to have will be easier with a little alcohol greasing the gears. 

He catches Cas watching closely, and holds out the nearly empty can.  “Want some?” 

He’s not surprised at the disdainful disgust, or the negative shake of Cas’ head.  He shrugs - _suit yourself -_ and chugs the rest.  He smacks his lips together, satisfied at the gentle buzz already starting to seep into his veins.  It’s different from the high he gets from Cas’ venom, and not nearly as satisfying.  But it relaxes him without giving him the world’s most urgent boner, so he considers that a win. 

“Alright, Sammy.  Get it out of your system.” 

“Man, where do I start?”  Sam shifts from foot to foot, and runs a hand through his shaggy hair.  He looks like a scarecrow in his holey jeans, and battered flannel shirt that’s a little too short in the sleeves.  Having recently turned twenty-one, he’s legally an adult, but still growing like a tween, and Dean’s going to have to drag him away from his studies soon to get him into a Big and Tall where they might sell some clothes that fit him properly. 

Dean fishes another beer out of the fridge, and pops the tab.  He ignores the warning look Cas gives him, but he does take a more reasonable sized sip rather than chugging it again.  “How about an introduction?”  He gestures between them.  “Cas, this is my little brother, who you are not allowed to eat.  Sam, this is Cas.  Yes, he’s a demon, no he’s not going to eat you.” 

He gives Cas a meaningful look to drive the point home.  Cas merely sniffs, and goes to sit on one of the island stools.  He’s still situated between Dean and Sam, and watching the latter carefully for any sign of aggression.   

“Hi, Cas, nice to me-” Sam cuts off with an exasperated glare.  “Dean this is serious.  Becky said he’s an incubus?” 

Cas sneezes again and rubs the back of his wrist against his nose.  Dean finds himself reaching out to the demon, smoothing his palm in slow circles between his shoulders.  When he realizes what he’s doing he almost jerks his hand away, but doesn’t want to draw Sam’s attention to the motion. 

He shrugs as casually as he can.  “Yeah, so?” 

Sam stares at him like he can’t believe he’s related to such a massive idiot.  “ _So?_ ” he finally bursts out.  “So, you’re telling me that you like guys now, and this, this…” he waves his beer in Cas’ direction, “this _monster_ isn’t date rap-” 

A harsh growl cuts him off.  Cas is still in his seat, but his muscles bunch and coil under Dean’s hand, and he looks like he’s half a second from leaping over the island and attacking.  “You do not speak to him in that tone, human,” Cas warns in a low guttural tone that makes him sound like he’s speaking through a throat full of gravel. 

“Cas,” Dean says sharply.  When Cas’ head whips around to look at him through narrowed eyes, Dean gives him a stern look.  “I need to talk to my brother alone.” 

Cas snarls, baring his teeth.  It’s not a “no”, exactly, but it’s definitely a strong protest.   

Dean squeezes his shoulder, and leans down until they’re nearly eye level.  “Cas, we’ve got a deal, and you agreed to serve me.  I _will_ order you to leave.” 

For a moment Dean isn’t sure he’s going to get his way.  Cas’ pupils contract into tight slits, emphasizing his inhuman nature.  It sends a shiver down Dean’s spine, and he isn’t a hundred percent on whether it’s the good or the bad kind of shiver. 

Cas gives his answer by disappearing right before his eyes.  The only sign that he had even been present is the tingle of Dean’s palm where he had been pressing it to the demon’s skin, and the scent of warm honey and cloves lingering in the air. 

He drops his hand, and rubs it against the soft jersey of his pants.  The tingle fades almost immediately, but an ache springs up in his chest.  He ignores it and turns his attention to his brother. 

“You made a deal with him?” Sam’s voice is an octave higher than normal, a sure sign that he’s shocked, if his wide eyes and slack jaw weren’t a dead giveaway.  “What kind of deal?  And what’s with the-” he gestures wildly in Dean’s direction. 

“You realize you just gestured at all of me, right?” Dean asks. 

“Dean, you are covered in bruises and bite marks!”  Sam crosses the room, setting his beer on the kitchen island as he passes it.  His eyes wander over Dean’s skin, and settle on the freshest bite mark on his chest.  “Jesus Christ, he _broke the skin!”_  

Knocking Sam’s hand away when he reaches out to touch the mark, Dean steps back.  “Don’t worry, I got revenge.  He’s got a few bite marks of his own.” 

Well, only the one.  Maybe he should do something to even things up a little.   

He shakes away the thought, unsure why the idea of marking Cas up more pleases him so much.  He’s never been a biter, and is usually too gentle to even bruise his lovers unless they goad him into rougher sex.   

Sam gapes at him for a moment before shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw at a stubborn angle.  “Alright, just… just start from the beginning.  How did you end up with an incubus in your apartment?” 

Delaying the inevitable by taking a swig of beer isn’t the best strategy, but it’s all Dean has.  He makes a great production of swallowing, and licking his lips, smacking them together twice before he decides that he’s already in overkill territory.  He avoids Sam’s eyes when he answers.  “I summoned him.” 

A beat of silence, and then.  “ _Why?”_  

Dean shrugs, but the uncomfortable tightness in his shoulders doesn’t ease.  “Remember the other night when I decided to summon a succubus?” 

“Yeah…” 

“I was kinda drunk, and-” 

“Oh fuck.” 

“I must have mispronounced something, and-” 

“Oh _fuck_.” 

“And there he was in the circle, and he wouldn’t leave unless I gave him a kiss-” 

“Oh fuck!  Dean, their venom-” 

“Yeah, I know!” Dean snaps.  “I accidentally drunk-summoned him, and then he roofied me!  I get it, I’m a fuck up!”  He rubs at the growing ache in his chest, avoiding Sam's gaze as he continues.  "Look, things started out kind of messed up-" _understatement, "-_ but Cas agreed to serve me for a while in exchange for sex, and he’s actually kind of cool and I like having him around-" 

"You realize that's probably the venom talking, right?" 

Dean shakes his head.  "His venom makes me horny, but it doesn't make me laugh at his jokes."  

He doesn't remind Sam that it can still be used to control him since he doesn't want Sam to freak out any more than he already is.  And besides, Dean is mostly certain Cas isn't forcing him into anything anymore. 

Huh.  That's... a thing he'd like to avoid thinking about too closely for a while. 

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and makes a pained sound.  "I really don't want to know about the sex stuff."   

"I'm just saying," Dean says with a shrug.  "When we're not getting down and dirty, he's kinda funny and interesting." 

Sam opens his eyes and pins Dean with a serious look.  "So... it doesn't bother you that he's a He?" 

Fuck, here it comes.  Dean shrugs one shoulder and keeps his tone light.  "I dunno, not really I guess.  Not anymore."  

"Not anymore?  So it _did_ bother you?" 

Dean isn't sure what his brother is fishing for.  "Yeah it was weird at first, but y'know... sex is sex or whatever." 

"Dean."  Oh shit, that's Sam's careful voice.  It's the same one he uses with their dad when he's about to contradict him with logic, and he's mostly sure his words aren't going to go over well.  "If he raped you, you know I won't judge you for it because it’s not your fault.  I'll help you get rid of him and-" 

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa."_ Dean holds up a hand, halting Sam with a glare.  "Let's not go there, ok?  Maybe at first I wasn't into it-" 

"So basically it was rape." 

Dean throws up his hands, careful not to spill his beer.  "I'm into it _now,_ Sam!  And yeah, it took me a little while to get used to the new bits and pieces-" 

"A while?  Dean it's been like two days!" 

"So what?"  Dean snaps.  God, he's sick of this already.  If only banishment spells worked on little brothers.  Since it doesn’t, he goes on the offensive.  "And why is his dick such an issue for you?  I never took you for a homophobe." 

Dean has been saying stupid shit for years, and he's seen Sam's greatest hits in the bitch-face department, but the one he gives Dean now takes first prize.  He's sure if looks could kill, Dean would be dying a slow and agonizing death right now.  He almost takes it back, but he's a stubborn asshole, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

"So," Sam says with dangerous calm, "you're probably already addicted to his venom, and if you were clean, you'd be horrified that you've been fucking a man when you're straight."  

“What if I’m not straight?” Dean mumbles, avoiding Sam’s eyes by looking down at the beer can in his hand.  It makes a metallic popping sound as he presses the side in with his thumb then releases it, allowing the aluminum to pop back to its previous place.  “You’re the one that’s always telling me that sexuality is fluid, or some shit like that.” 

“Yeah, well apparently I pulled all of that out of my ass, because I’m a homophobe.” 

Dean winces.  “Sorry.” 

Sam sighs, and when he continues his voice is more gentle.  “So you’re saying you’re not straight?” 

“Maybe not, like… straight as a ruler.  Maybe a defective ruler.”  Dean demonstrates with his hand, swiping it through the air in a line with a barely noticeable curve. 

That makes Sam's lips twitch with the beginning of a smile, but his eyes are serious when he asks "And you're sure it's not the venom making you feel that way?" 

 _No_. 

"Does it matter?” he asks.  “Sex with Cas is good."  A memory of what he and Cas were doing just a few hours ago floats to the front of his mind, and he smirks.  "I mean, it's _really good_ , Sam." 

Sam snorts.  "Dude, gross." 

"He does this thing with his tongue-" 

Sam throws up his hands in a staying gesture.  "I don't wanna know!" 

"Seriously, Sammy, his mouth is magical."  Now he's just being a dick, because seeing the flustered disgust on his brother's face is one of Dean’s top five favorite things.  And the teasing is diffusing most of the angry tension between them which is a major bonus. 

"Shut up!" Sam cries on a horrified laugh.  "I'm going to need a melonballer to erase that mental image!" 

Dean reaches behind him and opens a drawer, digging out the requested tool and holding it out to Sam with a grin.  

"Fuck you." Sam laughs again and with a wave of his fingers a hint of elemental magic knocks the melonballer out of Dean's hand.  They both grin when it clatters to the floor, but Sam sobers quickly, the edges of his mouth pulling down with a worried frown.  "I'm still a little freaked out about this." 

 _That makes two of us_.  But he doesn't want to add anymore fuel to the fire so he keeps that thought to himself.  He shrugs.  "I get it." 

"I don't trust him." 

Dean nods his understanding.  "That's probably a good thing," he admits.  "But I'm not asking you to trust Cas.  I'm asking you to trust me to know what I'm doing." 

"Says the guy who drunk summoned a sex demon," Sam responds dryly.  But there is no more fight in his words.  He sighs and runs a hand over his face and back through the layers of his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.  The gesture is futile; the strands flop right back down.  "Just... promise me you'll ask for help if you need it." 

Dean rolls his eyes.  "Yeah, fine." 

They settle into a comfortable silence, both nursing their beers as they consider the situation.  Dean rubs the growing ache under his sternum absently, and takes another sip of his beer.  It's starting to go flat, and he wrinkles his nose at the taste.  He's thirsty as hell, so he should probably dump it and drink some water anyway. 

Cas is always trying to get him to drink more and stay hydrated.  He'll probably be happy if Dean doesn't drink anymore alcohol tonight anyway.  His thoughts are interrupted when Sam speaks. 

Sam grimaces.  "What's dad gonna say?" 

Shit, Dean hadn't thought about that.  His knee jerk reaction is to say dad doesn't need to know, but he knows that would be unrealistic.   

Most of Dean's work is freelance, and more than half the time he does jobs his dad sends his way.  They don't always hunt together anymore, and it happens less and less as Dean gets older and John feels more comfortable letting him handle things on his own.  So it is possible the subject of Dean's unbound demon companion may never come up.  But Dean doesn't expect that kind of luck.  John is perceptive and will probably figure out something is going on eventually.  It’s only a matter of time. 

Especially since Dean doesn't intend to really to hide Cas.  It would be unfair to the demon.  Dean doesn't know where he goes when he's not here in the apartment, but he imagines there isn't anywhere else to go other than back to his own realm.  Dean doesn't want to ask him to pop back and forth between dimensions constantly. 

"You can't keep this a secret from him," Sam says, voicing Dean's thoughts.  "And he's gonna be pissed." 

"Think he'll forget about the demon stuff if I accuse him of being a homophobe?" Dean asks hopefully.  It's a weak defense, and he knows it. 

So does Sam.  "Dean, you know he won't care if you're suddenly into dudes."   

Their younger brother Adam got caught macking on a male student the year before, and John had been mostly pissed about him skipping class to make out in the janitor's closet.  He'd barely batted an eye over the gender of Adam's buddy, much to all the brothers' surprise. 

"Yeah," Dean sighs.  "Demons on the other hand..." 

"Remember how angry he was when he found out about Madison?" Sam grimaces at the memory.  He'd stood up to John and dated her anyway, but even though the relationship didn't work out, John still gives Sam shit for dating a werewolf.  "Think how much worse he'll be about a demon." 

They both go silent as they contemplate John’s reaction.   

“I could tell him Cas is just my servant,” Dean says. 

“Yeah, he’ll totally believe that,” Sam says dryly.  “He won’t notice that Cas is unbound.  Or the way Cas looks at you.  Or touches you.  Or gets protective…” 

“Maybe I’ll just avoid Dad for a while,” Dean responds. 

Sam snorts.  “Yeah, probably a good idea.” 

There’s a buzzing, and Sam pats at his pocket then pulls out his phone.  His face twists like he’s got a mouth full of lemons when he looks at the screen, and he glares at Dean.  “It’s Becky.  Asking for some more healing creams.” 

The grown up thing to do would be to apologize to his brother for making him interact with Becky, but Dean thinks growing up is for suckers.  He grins smugly.  “Better go take care of her, Sammy.  You can’t leave a damsel in distress.” 

“She’s in distress because of you, you jerk.” Sam gripes.  He tucks away his phone and chugs down the rest of his beer in two swallows.  When he lowers his head, he’s giving Dean a deathglare.  “You owe me.” 

“When you’re married with your third baby on the way, you’ll thank me.” Dean ducks with a laugh when Sam throws his empty beer can at his head.  

“I hate you.” 

“You love me,” Dean counters with a grin.  He holds out his arms for a hug, crossing the kitchen to close the space between them.  “C’mon, admit it.” 

“Gross, don’t touch me!” Sam protests through his laughter.  He dodges Dean, putting the island between them.  “You smell like a seedy brothel, and I don’t even want to know how much DNA you’re covered in.” 

The answer is a lot, but Dean just shrugs and drops his arms.  “Yeah yeah, go take care of your girlfriend, you prude.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Sam says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front door.  “And definitely not a prude.  I just don’t want to catch demon cooties.” 

“Yeah?  Doggy style’s your thing, huh?” 

Sam flips him off, and pulls open the door, where he pauses.  “Just be careful.” 

Dean nods, and drops the teasing.  “I will.” 

As soon as the door clicks shut, Dean slumps against the kitchen island, ignoring twinges of pain in delicate areas.  The ache in his chest starts thrumming with his heartbeat now that he’s not distracted from it.  A headache is starting to nudge at his temples as well, and he rubs them with his fingers. 

He’s starting to feel like shit, actually. 

Deciding a shower might make him feel better, he makes his way to the bathroom.  He turns on the water to let it start warming up, and pauses at the sink to brush his teeth.   

The mirror reflects every bruise, hickey, and bite, and Dean keeps his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the claim Cas has left on his body.  He still needs to talk to him about the mating thing, but the more he thinks about it, the more a vague memory niggles at the back of his mind.  He really really needs to find that book.   

He spits, rinses, and spits again.  And when he straightens he nearly has a heart attack when his eyes brush past his reflection and he registers that he’s not alone.  He spins around to give Cas a piece of his mind for sneaking up on him, only to find him standing mere inches away.  Dean licks his lips, and warmth spreads through him when Cas’ slitted blue eyes drop to take in the movement. 

“Cas,” he says gruffly.  “We talked about this.  Personal space?” 

“It is a ridiculous rule,” Cas says, moving closer until their chests brush. 

They’re both shirtless, and Dean’s nipples harden at the contact. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, breathless.  “You’ve got a point.” 

They move at the same time, Dean wrapping his arms around Cas’ shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss.  Cas’ hands slide down the back of Dean’s pants, cupping his ass and tugging their hips together. 

Honey and cloves spread over Dean’s tongue and he licks deeper into Cas’ mouth, hungry for more.  Every ache and pain in his body immediately recedes, replaced by the buzz of arousal.   

Reluctantly he admits to himself - in the safety of his own mind which he’s mostly certain Cas can’t read - that he missed the demon while he was gone, even though it was maybe an hour at the most.  Sam's probably right that it's a side effect of the venom, but Dean lets his brain shut down and loses himself in the headiness of Cas' touch. 

Cas drags Dean's pants down over his hips without breaking the contact between their mouths.  He's already naked, having discarded his borrowed clothing at some point while he was gone - Dean wonders briefly if they’re crumpled in a pile in some dark corner of hell - and when he knocks their hips together again, beads of his precome smear over Dean's belly.  His skin tingles at the contact, and he does his best to get closer to the demon, nearly desperate for more now that he's got a fresh hit of venom burning in his veins. 

The bathroom is filled with steam and pheromones, and Dean sucks it in through his nose, filling his lungs till they ache.  He's so intent on Cas' mouth and scent and flavor that it takes him by surprise when Cas scoops him up with inhuman strength, hands tight around the back of Dean's thighs.  But the motion allows him to wrap his legs around Cas' waist, and he clamps them tight, using the leverage to grind their dicks together. 

Cas chuckles as he steps into the shower under the hot spray of water.  "So eager for me." 

Dean wants to be pissed at the reminder, but fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound.  Or a pounding.  He grins at the thought.  "You seem pretty eager yourself," he taunts.  He pokes his tongue out between his teeth and waggles his brows suggestively. 

"Mm, yes," Cas admits.  He leans back and runs his eyes over Dean's torso, his pupils dilating when they pause on Dean's dick where it presses hard and flushed red with blood against his belly.  "I can't decide where I should start though." 

One of his hands shifts from the back of Dean's thigh to the cleft of his ass, forcing Dean to tighten his grip on the demon or to drop his legs and support his own weight - Dean goes for option one - and Cas presses two fingers against his entrance.  At Dean's hiss of discomfort, he lightens the pressure and just teases the furl of muscle with feather light brushes.  "No I won't fuck you if you're sore." 

Dean opens his mouth to protest, even though he _is_ feeling the strain of being stretched and fucked more than his body is used to.   

Cas speaks first.  "Besides, I would also dearly love to feel your cock throbbing against my tongue."  He licks his lips, looking up at Dean through lashes already spikey with water droplets.  "Would you like to fuck my mouth, Michael?" 

The name makes Dean shiver.  He nods, unable to say no to a question like that.   

Cas leans in and flicks his tongue out, catching a droplet of water from the tip of Dean's nose.  He draws his tongue into his mouth, rubbing his lips together as if he's savoring a delicious flavor.  "Say it, Michael.  Tell me you want to put your cock in my mouth." 

The words are hot in their own right, but combined with his name and Cas' rusty voice, they're downright incendiary.  "I want-" his voice breaks and he swallows before finishing, "-want to put my cock in your mouth." 

"Tell me you want to fuck my throat," Cas purrs as he leans forward to to nip at Dean's jaw with the edge of his fangs. 

Oh god, he's going to self combust.  "I want to fuck your throat, Cas." 

The words earn him a pleased rumble that Dean can feel more than he can hear.  Cas' looks up and his pupils are nearly perfectly round, a sure sign that he's at least partially as turned on as Dean is.  Dean would argue that no one could ever be as horny as he is right now.  He's only vaguely aware that he's squirming his hips, trying to rub dick against Cas' belly. 

"I would like that too, Michael."  He smiles wickedly, baring the sharp teeth that have marked Dean’s skin several times. 

Dean should be afraid of letting those chompers anywhere near his dick, but all he wants is to slide into the wet heat of Cas’ mouth.  Cas has blown him plenty of times, and not once have his teeth been a problem.  “Then what are you waiting for?” Dean challenges.  “Suck my cock, Cas.” 

In one smooth motion, Cas lowers Dean’s feet to the floor, then drops to his knees between them.  Dean sucks in a breath and knocks his head back against the tiled wall at the first lap of Cas’ tongue, letting it out in a moan when Cas curls a hand around his length and strokes. 

“Michael.”  The name is garbled because Cas has the very tip of Dean’s dick between his lips.   

When Dean looks down at him, he realizes that Cas was serious about the face-fucking thing.  He grabs two handfuls of Cas’ hair, and pulls him forward, shoving his dick as deep as he can.  It takes almost the entirety of his concentration to keep his knees locked so he doesn’t slide down the wall to land on his ass on the floor of the shower.   

Cas relaxes and lets Dean take control, which is pretty much a first.  And Dean takes full advantage, fucking deep and slow, marveling at the slide of tongue and lips over his hard flesh.  Gasping when the head of his dick presses into the squeeze of Cas’ throat.   

He’s already close to coming, but somehow he manages to hold back.  Cas’ eyes are half-lidded, and he looks completely blissed out.  Dean wants to do everything he can to keep the demon looking like that, and if Cas is getting off by having his mouth fucked, Dean is going to make it last if it kills him. 

The only contact between their bodies is Dean’s hands in Cas’ hair, and Cas’ mouth around Dean’s dick.  Cas keeps his hands to himself, and Dean is glad for it since he doesn’t think he could hold onto what little control he has if those hands started fondling him.   

His whole world narrows down to the demon kneeling at his feet.  Cas’ lips, turning red and plump from friction.  Cas’ hair twining wetly around Dean’s fingers as if it had a will of its own and wants to touch Dean even if Cas’ hands are not.  Cas’ softly glowing eyes, focused on Dean as if he is the most important being in all creation, a being to be revered and worshipped. 

A longing builds up inside of Dean.  Not for the orgasm that is floating just within reach if Dean were willing to seize it, but for the adoration in Cas’ eyes.  He wishes it were a physical thing that he could pick up and wrap around himself.  A blanket of warmth and protection and love, and _oh god, did he just think the_ L word??? 

It’s terrifying, and his hips stutter to a stop.  His fingers start to loosen, “Cas… I…” 

Cas makes a noise of protest in his throat, and he grabs Dean’s hips, holding him in place so he can’t pull away.  His eyes plead with Dean.   _Please don’t stop_ , they say.   _I need more._  

And Dean can’t deny him.  His grip tightens again, and he shoves his dick deep, pulling Cas until his nose is buried against curly brown pubic hair.  He stays there, until he starts to worry that Cas can’t breath and let’s him back off just far enough to take a breath before roughly pulling him back.   

Cas moans at the rough handling, and that’s it for Dean.  His balls tighten, and his dick spasms, and he’s coming.  He curls forward, arching his body around Cas’ head and shoulders as he reaches his climax.  He gasps harshly when he feels Cas’ throat muscles flutter around the head of his dick as he swallows every drop of cum Dean can give him. 

His knees finally go weak, and his thighs give an unsteady tremble which is just enough warning for Cas to release Dean’s dick before he loses his ability to stand.  He slumps to the floor and leans against the tiled wall, gasping like he just finished a hundred meter sprint.  His fingers are still curled in Cas’ hair, and he can’t seem to unclench them, so he just pulls until their foreheads knock together. 

“Goddamn,” he murmurs into the steamy air between them.   

Cas’ body is twitching and Dean looks down to see that it’s because the demon is jacking himself off.  “You want some help with that, Cas?” 

Apparently not, because Cas comes as soon as the question is out of his mouth.  Splashes of his semen land low on Dean’s belly, burning pleasantly before being washed away by the shower’s spray.  Cas catches some of it in his palm, and reaches for Dean’s softening dick, which immediately starts to harden again when the semen comes in contact with the sensitive skin. 

“Cas!” Dean hisses.  “I’m not ready!” 

Cas shoves a cum-coated finger into Dean’s mouth, and Dean’s whole body convulses as another orgasm slams through him.  His mind blanks out under the onslaught of pleasure, and it takes him a few moments to come back to himself. 

When he does, he finds that Cas has moved to sit in the corner of the shower stall, and has pulled Dean between his legs, pillowing Dean’s head against his chest.   He can hear Cas’ heartbeat under the low rumble of his purr, and Dean finds it oddly comforting. 

“New rule, Cas,” He mumbles after several minutes.   

Fingers comb through the hair at Dean’s temple.  “Yes, Michael?” 

Dean winces and tries to move out of the cooling spray of water that is still pouring down on them.  “When we shower we wash first, then you can fuck me into oblivion.” 

“I have not fucked you yet.” 

“Smartass.  You know what I mean.” 

Cas chuckles.  Dean smiles faintly and marks it as a win. 

Despite Cas’ complaints that he doesn’t like washing their scent off each other, they do eventually manage to get clean.  Not that it does them much good, since as soon as they’re dry and make it back to the bedroom, Cas rides Dean’s cock long into the night, leaving them both sweaty and sticky. 

 _Oh well,_ Dean thinks, much much later as he slurps Cas’ semen from his fingers, triggering the fifth or sixth orgasm of the night - he’s not sure, he’s lost count.  By the time they’re done, there’ll be more hot water and they can try the shower thing again.   


	9. Chapter 9

Waking up alone should not be weird.  At the age of twenty-five, Dean has already had a few long term girlfriends, and he's had plenty of one night stands that have stayed for breakfast.  But for the most part, he doesn't share his sleeping space when he's single, so if anything, he should feel strange waking up to another body in his bed. 

But when he blinks blearily at the morning light seeping through his bedroom curtains and becomes aware of the fact that he's alone, he gets an odd hollow ache in his chest.  Loneliness presses down on him, pushing him deeper into the mattress.   

He doesn't know why he expected Cas to still be with him.  Maybe because the demon seems to prefer to be touching him at all times.  It's unreasonable to assume Cas will be around all the time since he isn't bound.  Cas can go off and do whatever he wants unless Dean summons him.  He has no idea what exactly an incubus would do in its spare time, but it probably involves deflowering virgins and planting demon babies in wombs across the world. 

That thought shouldn’t make bile rise up in his throat.  He’s not jealous of Cas’ hypothetical lovers, because Cas is just a demon, and Dean is just using him.  For power and for sex.  Maybe they can be buddies as long as Cas doesn’t turn on him and try to eat him.  But that is it.   

Dean sighs and rolls onto his back.  His temples thump with the beginnings of a headache and it takes him a moment before his vision stops spinning even though his body already stopped moving.  His stomach growls, loudly reminding him he's fucking _starving_. 

He really needs to get some work done today anyway, so it’s probably a good thing that Cas isn’t around.  He keeps telling himself that when he pulls on a pair of thin lounge pants and pads barefoot toward his bedroom door. 

When he opens it the unmistakable scent of frying sausage assaults him, the hollow ache in his chest eases, to be replaced with relief that he isn’t alone after all.  "Cas?" He calls, even as his feet carry him toward the kitchen. 

He finds Cas standing in front of the stove, naked other than the red apron he has tied around his waist, and poking at something in a skillet with a spatula.  He turns to look over his shoulder and gives Dean a warm smile.  "I had intended to let you sleep until I finished preparing your meal.  I'm sorry if I woke you." 

The scene is straight out of porno, and Dean is torn between laughing at the cliche and crossing the space between them to grind his suddenly interested dick against Cas' bare ass.   

His hands settle on Cas' hips, holding him so he can't turn around, and Dean presses his face against the warm skin at Cas' hairline.  His dick settles in the cleft of Cas' ass, and they both make a small approving noise, which makes Dean laugh out loud.  All they need is some _bow-chicka-wow-wow_ playing on the stereo, and a video camera, and they’d be able to make some cash off of whatever they upload on the internet. 

"What do you find so funny, Michael?"   

When Cas tries to turn around, Dean tightens his grip.  "Don't," Dean admonishes.  "Your back isn't protected, and let me tell you, hot grease stings like a bitch.  You really should put on some clothes if you're going to cook." 

Cas relaxes in his hold and turns his attention back to the skillet full of browning sausage.  "I am wearing clothes." 

Dean plucks at the edge of the apron where it curves over Cas' flank.  "This isn't clothing, Cas.  You use this to cover your clothing." 

"Why?"   

Dean can't see his face, but he can clearly imagine Cas' eyes squinted in confusion, his nose wrinkled with distaste.  He chuckles, squeezing his fingers against Cas' hip.  "So the grease doesn't splatter on your clothes and ruin them." 

"I do not understand why it matters," Cas sighs.  "But I take it you find it important?" 

"Clothes can get expensive."  Dean presses a kiss against the back of Cas' neck before releasing him and moving to stand at his side.  He refuses to think about the reason behind the gesture because denial is easy; self reflection is torture.  "We should probably get you some of your own so they fit you right." 

Cas gives him a sideways look.  "You just said clothes are expensive.  Would it not be better for me to continue to use yours on the few occasions I need them, since I prefer not to wear them?" 

Well he's got a point.  Dean's clothes don't fit him too badly, and a belt will fix the pants issue.   

And Dean kinda likes how Cas looks in his clothes. 

He blushes at the thought, and hides his reaction by turning away to get himself some coffee.  "Yeah, maybe you’re right," he mumbles.   

He gets a mug out of the cupboard, wincing at the pull of sore muscles in his arms and back.  His fingers tremble, and it takes all his concentration to set the mug on the counter without letting it clatter against the formica.  He doesn't want Cas to worry, since he probably just needs some food.  Marathon sex burns a fuckload of calories, and whatever Cas is making - it looks like sausage gravy, _oh hell yeah_ \- should do the trick. 

The coffee maker sits empty, so he changes out the filter and gets it ready for a fresh pot.  "You’re making breakfast, but didn't make any coffee?" He slants a teasing grin at Cas.  "You’re not taking very good care of me, Cas." 

Cas goes still, and looks up at him, eyes wide with apology.  “I don’t know how.” 

Dean’s jaw goes slack.  “You don’t?”  He gestures at the skillet.  “But you’re making sausage gravy.” 

“And biscuits,” Cas adds.  “They should be done baking soon, actually.”  He sets the spatula aside, and bends down to check the oven.  

When Cas starts to reach inside with his bare hands, Dean jumps forward and grabs his wrist.  “Dude, I’ve got potholders.”  He fumbles for the drawer next to the stove, and pulls them out, handing them over to Cas, who takes them with a curious tilt to his head. 

“How is it that you know how to make sausage gravy and biscuits,” Dean asks as he steps back to give room for Cas to pull the hot pan out of the oven and set it on the cool half of the cooking range, “But you don’t know how to make coffee, and you don’t know that you’re not supposed to grab hot things out of the oven with your bare hands?” 

Cas grimaces, and tucks the potholders back in the drawer where they’d come from.  “Gabe only taught me a few recipes.”  He shuts the oven off, and also reaches out to turn off the burner that the sausage gravy is cooking over.  “I know the basics of following a recipe.  But I don’t know how many of your human tools work.”  He shrugs.  “And a burn would heal quickly.” 

Oh yeah, _demon_.  Somehow that had slipped Dean’s mind when he’d been panicking about Cas hurting himself.  “Well I’d rather you didn’t have to heal yourself up,” he says gruffly.  He reaches out and tugs on the edge of the apron.  “How come you put this on?” 

Cas shrugs, and smiles fondly, his eyes focused on a distant memory.  “Gabe wears one.  It’s quite lovely.  It’s green, with pictures of fruit all over it, and lace ruffles along the hem.” 

Okay, weird.  The image of a demon wearing a frilly apron makes Dean snort.  He shakes his head to clear thought away, and gestures at the coffee pot.  “Want me to show you how to do it?” 

Cas lights up, his eyes glowing bright.  “Yes, I would like that.” 

Making coffee is something that Dean has been doing for so long now, that it’s almost difficult for him to explain, despite its simplicity.  But Cas pays close attention, and asks questions about why the filter is necessary, and what is the significance of three scoops, why not four? 

When the first drops of dark liquid starts dripping into the carafe, Dean inhales through his nose, pulling in the rich scent and letting it soothe the headache still thumping behind his temples.  “Smell that, Cas?  That’s heaven, right there.” 

Cas squints at the coffee pot.  “Heaven is a dimension adjacent to this one,” he says flatly.  “I don’t think this substance has anything to do with the spell you would use to open a portal to another realm at all, much less one such as Heaven.” 

It’s obvious Cas doesn’t know why Dean is laughing at him, which only makes Dean laugh more.  It takes him a while to calm down, and he’s breathing hard by the time he finishes.  He opens his mouth to explain that he wasn’t being literal, but a wave of dizziness washes over him and he slumps weakly, barely catching himself against the counter and stopping his fall. 

“Michael!”  Strong hands reach out to him, one sliding around his torso so that Cas is standing pressed against him, holding him upright.  “What’s wrong?” 

“Dunno,” he mumbles through lips that feel too thick to form words.  “Jus’ really tired all’asudden.” 

The world spins unpleasantly when Cas scoops him up into a bridal carry, and he clutches at the demon’s shoulders, suddenly panicked about being unable to feel the ground under his feet.  It only lasts a moment though, and then Cas is settling him down on the couch.  His hands are warm when they cup Dean’s jaw, forcing his head up.   

Dean blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision which had narrowed down to a tunnel.  It takes a moment for the swirling brown and blue in front of him to resolve into the face of a very worried looking Cas.  The dizziness recedes along with the fuzziness around the edges of his vision, although the headache that had been plaguing him since he woke up intensifies, making Dean wince.   

“Tell me what I need to do for you.” The words are a firm order, but Cas’ voice is laced with anxious uncertainty. 

Dean’s stomach grumbles loudly, answering for him.  “Food,” Dean says gruffly, brushing away Cas’ hands with an irritated wave of his own.  “My blood sugar is probably low.” 

He’s never had problems with his blood sugar before, but then again, he’s gotten a lot more exercise in the last few days than he’s probably gotten in the whole last year of his life.  Cas accepts the answer easily, though.  He rushes to the kitchen, and Dean hears the clink of dishes as he fetches a meal. 

Dean feels better now that he’s sitting down, and he insists on taking the plate and fork when Cas looks like he wants to feed him again.  Cas hovers over him, watching carefully as Dean cuts into one of the three biscuits smothered in white gravy with large chunks of sausage. 

The first bite really _is_ heaven, and Dean moans around the savory mouthful.  It’s a little too hot, and he can feel it burning the roof of his mouth, but he’s already scooping up another bite before he finishes chewing it.  He swallows, and looks up at Cas who is biting at his bottom lip nervously, and actually _wringing his hands._  “This is really fuckin’ good,” Dean assures him, before shoving the second bite into his mouth.  He doesn’t bother to swallow before continuing.  “But y’know what would make it better?” 

Cas perks up, and Dean imagines if he had cat ears they would swivel forward.   

“Coffee,” Dean says after swallowing.  “Add a couple spoons full of sugar, okay?” 

He receives a nod of agreement, and then Cas is gone again.   

Dean lets his eyes slip shut as he savors another bite of the rich gravy.  The biscuits are fluffy and warm, and he can taste just a hint of butter through the peppery sausage.  He doesn’t think he’s ever had biscuits and gravy this good before, and that’s saying a lot because he’s had Ellen’s, and her cooking is fucking amazing.   

He sets the plate down on his lap so he can accept the coffee mug when Cas brings it to him.  The first sip chases away the dark edges of his headache, and he smiles up at the demon.  “Thanks, Cas.  This is perfect.” 

It’s nothing fancy, since Dean doesn’t usually buy the really expensive coffee grounds.  But it’s sweet, and even though Cas only added sugar, Dean can almost taste a hint of honey and cloves in the dark liquid.   

“Do you feel better?” Cas asks softly as he settles on his knees at Dean’s feet.  He looks twitchy, like he desperately wants to take the plate and start feeding Dean, but he’s valiantly holding himself back. 

Now that Dean’s stomach has something to gnaw on besides itself his vision is clearing and the heavy weight that feels like he's been carrying around since he got out of bed is lessening.  His skin still feels a little strange, like it's stretched too thin, but it's a minor annoyance compared to how crappy he's been feeling since he woke up.  "Yeah, buddy," he says through another mouthful of biscuit - since Cas doesn't give a shit about manners, Dean isn't going to bother using them.  "Thanks.  This is really good." 

Cas beams at him.  "That makes me happy." 

Dean's heart stutters over Cas' toothy grin, and he forgets to chew for a beat.  He feels his skin flush, and he has to look away.  Turning his eyes down to the plate in his lap, he swallows and clears his throat.  "That's, uh... that's great Cas." 

"I would like to learn more recipes," Cas goes on, apparently (thankfully) unaware of Dean's discomfort. 

Dean squirms in his seat.  "Cas, you don't have to keep cooking for me.  I can take care of myself just fine." 

"I don't doubt that, Michael." There's laughter hidden in the words, and Dean looks up in surprise to find Cas watching him with a fond tilt to his head.  The skin around his eyes crinkles with his amusement, and his pupils twitch into a wider oval.  "But I enjoy cooking, and I will need something to keep myself amused.  I can't keep you naked and in bed all the time." 

"You can't?"  Dean coughs over his own words, and scrambles to recover.  "Uh, I mean, yeah that's true." 

Cas flashes his fangs in a sly grin.  "Unless you want me to.  That would be my preference, of course." 

The fucker is teasing him, but Dean's dick perks up at the thought of being alternately fucked or pampered for days on end.  He flicks a glare at the tent in the crotch of his pants - _you stay out of this._  

He jumps slightly when Cas' hands find his knees, spreading them so he can settle between his thighs.  Glowing blue eyes examine Dean's half-hard dick hidden only by a thin layer of soft grey jersey.  Dean doesn't resist when Cas takes his mostly empty plate and sets it next to Dean's coffee cup in the side table. 

Dean spares a longing glance for the last biscuit floating in a pool of chunky gravy, but he knows there's plenty more where that came from, and right now he's far more interested in the way Cas' face is rubbing against his dick through his lounge pants.  Still, he can't help a half-hearted protest.  "Not even gonna let me finish eating first, huh Cas?" 

Lips wrap around the head of his dick, dampening the cloth with venom.  Cas mouths at him until Dean is gasping, and grabbing for a handful of dark hair.  When he speaks, his breath is hot against Dean’s flesh.  "Watching you savor your meal is making me hungry." 

Dean doesn't really have time to parse the words before Cas is pulling at the waist of his pants.  He automatically lifts his hips, wiggling until Cas helps him shimmy out of them.  And then Cas is swallowing him down, and Dean loses himself in the feel of lips and tongue. 

When an orgasm rocks through him, he's surprised there's anything for Cas to swallow.  Honestly, he didn't think it was possible for his body to produce enough jizz fast enough for how fast Cas keeps coaxing it out of him.  "Should'a paid more attention in health class," he mumbles through tingling lips. 

Cas is mouthing gently at Dean's groin, nuzzling his nose into the hair and scenting him, but his head tilts up when Dean speaks, and he lifts his eyebrows in question. 

A laugh bubbles up in Dean's chest.  He ruffles Cas' hair.  "Don't ask, it's stupid." 

For once his dick doesn't seem inclined to get hard right away, but Dean tugs at Cas' hair anyway, forcing him to back away from his junk.  He immediately misses the warmth of Cas' mouth, but he really can't fuck around all day.  His stomach rumbles, giving him an excuse to resist the disappointed look Cas gives him. 

"I'm gonna eat what's left of breakfast, and then I gotta get to work, Cas."   

Cas nods and pushes himself off the floor.  He’s obviously hard, but Dean barely has time to consider sliding his hands up under the apron and giving a little payback before Cas is speaking.  "I'll bring you some more food."  He picks up Dean's plate and heads for the kitchen, the flex of his bare ass a tantalizing display as he walks.   

Dean's attention is caught be the way the red ties of the apron rest in his crack, swaying slightly with the movement of his hips.  Dean snorts a laugh and rubs a hand over his face.  Yeah, he's living in a goddamn porno. 

He still wants to offer to take care of Cas when he comes back with another full plate, but Cas’ body seems to have calmed down, and he’s more interested in making sure Dean eats.  The rest of breakfast consists of an argument over whether Dean can feed himself, which he wins, but Cas is mollified when Dean distracts him by introducing him to the Cooking Channel.  He's immediately engrossed in an episode of Good Eats, and Dean is not only able to finish eating in peace, but Cas is still glued to the t.v. when Dean gets up to grab a quick shower. 

He'll deny to his dying breath that he's disappointed when Cas doesn't join him.

When he's finished and dressed, he comes out of the bathroom to find Cas still enthralled by Alton Brown's lessons.  It appears to be a new episode, so there must be a marathon.  Hell, if he'd known that cooking shows were incubus catnip, he would have introduced Cas to television sooner.  He might not be so damn sore right now. 

Every muscle aches, and it's no longer in the good way.  He's actually limping slightly as he heads for the kitchen and starts cleaning away the mess left from breakfast.  He's pretty sure he pulled something in his left leg during their fuck-a-thon last night, and there’s definitely a kink in his lower back. 

He's also exhausted, but he powers through it with another cup of coffee.  He needs to try and get some work done while Cas is distracted, so he gets his laptop out and sets himself up at the kitchen island. 

He's got plenty of email to go through, but no leads from his dad or Bobby.  They usually call if it's something urgent, so he's not too surprised.  He does find something interesting from his grandpa Henry, though.   

Most things he gets from Henry are letters trying to coax him into joining him in the Order of the Men of Letters.  Joining the prestigious order of wizards and scholars would allow him to further his magical education, but Dean would rather be out in the field actually using his powers rather than sitting in libraries all day studying how they work.  That's more Sam's speed, and possibly Adam's, although that kid seems to be most interested in healing magics and is working his way towards medical school even though he just started high school. 

But this email is different.  Apparently there's a banshee keeping a town’s residents from sleeping, but no one is dying.  Henry thinks there might be something in the area keeping reapers from doing their job, which is probably driving the poor banshee bat shit crazy.  Banshees are harmless, if annoying, but if there's something messing with reapers, it's something that should definitely be checked out. 

He grabs his phone and thumbs through his contacts, tapping the entry for the Men of Letters bunker where his grandfather works.  It takes three transfers and at least ten minutes of shitty hold music before Henry finally picks up.   

"Dean!  It's good to hear from you!"  Henry usually sounds half distracted, and this time is no exception.  There is a clatter and a bang in the background, but whatever experiment Henry is probably doing doesn't seem to be important enough to keep him from talking.  "Did you get my email?" 

"Hey Grandpa, yeah that's why I'm calling."  Dean loves his grandfather, but sometimes he's not completely sure they're actually related, because John is literally nothing like Henry. 

John is a Hunter, through and through.  He rebelled against the scholarly lifestyle young, joining the military and getting shipped off to Vietnam when he was young.  And when he married Mary Campbell, the family of Hunters was more than willing to teach him everything he wanted to know.  Dean doesn’t know if he’d have taken after John quite so much if Mary hadn’t died when he was a kid, but he doesn’t regret his choice to become a Hunter instead of a Scholar.  Saving people from the monsters in their closets is rewarding, and he loves his job. 

"That's great!  Let me grab the information for you,"  Henry says brightly.  There's another bang and some shuffling. 

Dean takes notes while Henry rambles off everything he knows about the situation.  They chit chat for a while, mostly inconsequential things that Dean only half pays attention to because he's already starting to research the banshee problem on his laptop while Henry tells him about the portal spell his colleagues have been working on.   

"Well that's enough about me," Henry says after a few minutes.  "I know you don't really care about all this stuff.  I'm just used to Sam letting me talk his ear off." 

Dean chuckles.  That's not surprising at all.  "I don't mind." 

"Yeah you do, but thank you for humoring an old man," Henry retorts fondly before changing the subject.  "I haven't heard from you in a while.  Tell me what's going on in your life these days." 

Immediately Dean's eyes find Cas who has moved from his spot on the floor to the couch, and is still staring at the t.v. as if it holds all the secrets of the universe.  Dean can’t blame him for his interest.  Alton Brown claims he uses science instead of magic, but sometimes Dean wonders when he’s watching the guy’s shows.  "Uh... nothing much," he hedges.  "You know, mostly work stuff." 

Henry hums, sounding disappointed.  "That's all?  You're too young to be so wrapped up in your work, Dean." 

Which is true, although Dean is in no way a workaholic.  He just doesn't think it's a good idea to regale his _grandfather_ with tales of his non-work related escapades.  No reason to give the old dude a heart attack, since he's really not that old, especially for a wizard.   

Dean has every intention of blowing off Henry's concern with a flippant remark about how he's one to talk since he joined the Men of Letters when he was Dean's age.  So he's completely flabbergasted by the words that come out of his mouth.  "Actually, I met someone a few days ago." 

"Really?"  Henry's excitement is obvious.  "Tell me about her." 

 _Shit shit shit, way to go, Winchester._ Dean squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his knuckles against his forehead at his own stupidity.  But that doesn't stop him from answering the question.  "Uh, she's-" yeah, no, not mentioning the guy thing _,_ "-pretty cool."   

'Pretty cool'?  What the fuck? 

"Her name's Cas."  He opens his eyes again and watches the subject of his conversation as he continues.  "Good looking, dark hair, blue eyes."  He almost adds _amazing in the sack,_ but apparently his brain-to-mouth filter is at least partially intact.  He grasps for something else to say that won't make him sound like he's just using Cas for sex (even if he mostly is, since he doesn't really need all the power Cas' service can provide him).  Cas' laser focus on the t.v. gives him inspiration though.  "She's a great cook." 

Shit, that still sounds like he's using Cas, only for food instead.  "I mean, she's a chef, so yeah."  He winces at himself.  God, when did he become such a crappy liar? 

Henry's rich chuckle fills the airwaves between them.  "Well you're a Winchester, and the old saying about food being a way to our hearts is definitely true for us." 

Yeah, and Cas could probably chew right through his ribcage if he suddenly decided he wanted a taste of Winchester heart.  Dean laughs weakly at the jest.  "Yeah, no kidding." 

The conversation is interrupted by the sound of raised voices in the background, and Henry sighs.  "I'm sorry, Dean.  I've got to go handle something." 

 _Thank god._ "No problem, Grandpa.  I'll let you know how the hunt turns out." 

"Please do!  I'm dying to know what could be causing the reaper to miss its death appointments."  He doesn't sound too worried about the people who should be dying, but that's Henry.  He's far more interested in how the supernatural ticks than the people whose lives it affects.  "And don't be such a stranger." 

He doesn’t have time to say goodbye before Henry hangs up to go take care of whatever crisis requires his attention.  Dean sets his phone aside, but doesn't immediately go back to his research.  He crosses his arms, leaning them on the island, and watches Cas instead.   

There was absolutely no reason to bring up Cas.  He could have told Henry anything.  That he still went out to the bars with his friends and socialized in between hunts.  He goes LARPing with Charlie every three weeks where he role-plays that he doesn't have any magic, and Charlie pretends that she does.  He spent the previous weekend tinkering with his car, tuning her up and giving her a full wash and wax treatment when he was done. 

But when it comes right down to it, he wants to talk about Cas.  Not the whole _oops I summoned a sex demon with boy parts,_ but about Cas himself.  Which is totally weird since almost everything he knows about Cas has to do with sex.   

And that makes him feel like such a tool that he decides to make a mental list of everything non-sexual he knows about Cas.   

He's friends with a gluttony demon named Gabe.  He knows how to cook even if he doesn't know a lot of recipes.  He _enjoys_ cooking, and apparently wants to learn more about it if his current obsession with the Cooking Channel is any indication (seriously, this is the longest Cas has gone without hopping on Dean's dick since he first appeared inside Dean’s summoning circle).  He can read, and understands enough about the human world to navigate things like refrigerators, cupboards, and stoves.  Dean’s also fairly certain he’s smart enough that he could have figured out the coffee maker on his own if he’d know that Dean would want coffee before anything else in the morning. 

And he’s a damn nudist.  Although at the moment, Cas is still wearing Dean’s apron so he’s kind of clothed, even if it does nothing for the sake of modesty.  Sure, Cas’ chest is mostly covered, and the red cloth is draped over his lap.  But since he’s wearing nothing underneath it, he looks like something out of a wet dream. 

Not that Dean has wet dreams about men.   

Well, there was that one time he had a dirty dream about his college buddy Aaron, but Dean is mostly certain that was the result of some extra skunky bud they’d smoked that night.  Drug induced dreams don’t count for anything.   

Right?   

Right.   

He shakes the thought away.  Okay, so he doesn’t know much, but he knows a few things and that’s a start.  And he’ll have time to learn more.  He doesn’t think he needs Cas’ help with the case Henry gave him, but he might as well drag the demon along and get something besides sex out of this bargain. 

“Hey, Cas?” 

Cas’ attention immediately shifts to Dean.  “Yes?” 

“You up for a hunt?” 

Cas smiles, his teeth flashing behind his plump lips.  “Of course.  That was our agreement.” 

Dean can’t help grinning back.  “Awesome.” 

Working with a partner besides John or Sam is going to be a little weird, but Dean thinks that having Cas tagging along might be kind of fun.  Especially since they’ll have to drive almost two days to get to the place.  Dean’s grin widens when he thinks of the kinky, loud motel sex they can have when they need to stop for the night. 

Fuck yeah, time for a road trip!   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this finished and posted yesterday, but I got a text message as I was leaving work from my bestie inviting me over to watch Mad Max Fury Road. Um, yeah, I love you guys, but I looooooove Furiosa. I'm sure you understand :D
> 
> Also, this is going to get a little less porny and a little more plotty for the next few chapters. The plot in this story won't quit jabbing my brain with a stick until I pay attention to it, so plot is happening.


	10. Chapter 10

They’ve only been on the road for about fifteen minutes when the cloying scent of honey and cloves filling the car gets to Dean, or more specifically to _his dick_ , and he starts shifting in his seat because his jeans are not very comfortable anymore.  Rolling down the window helps a little as cool air sweeps away the pheromones that have built up in the enclosed space, but he still can’t keep his eyes completely on the road.  He finds his gaze constantly pulled to his passenger. 

Cas is wearing Dean’s favorite clothes to sleep in.  The grey long-sleeved henley t-shirt has been washed and worn and rewashed so many times now that there are ragged holes around most of the hems, and the two buttons at the neck have been missing for years.  The cloth is thin and soft, and molds itself so closely to Cas’ arms and torso that it reveals the way his nipples perk up in the cool air.  The lounge pants he’s wearing are in hardly any better shape.  They used to be black, but are now more of a blue-ish brown-ish mottled color depending on the angle of the light.  And they do very little to hide the fact that Cas is not wearing any underwear. 

Before they left the apartment Dean had tried for all of ten minutes to talk Cas into wearing more substantial clothing, maybe even layers for Dean’s peace of mind, but Cas would have none of it.  He’d ended the argument easily by kissing Dean, giving him tiny sips of his venom until Dean finally agreed that the pajamas were fine. 

They aren’t fine.  Not even close.  But Dean is lucky Cas is wearing anything at all, and he’ll accept the small victories in life. 

One of which is winning the argument over Cas continuing to go barefoot.  The kisses led to a frantic make-out session, which had eventually led to both of them losing their clothes for about an hour.  Dean managed to get Cas under him and he'd gone on a mission to kiss every inch of warm skin to demonstrate to Cas how much he appreciates it even when it's covered in decent clothing.  Eventually he found himself face to face with the delicate bones and tendons of Cas' feet.   

High on venom it seemed like the best idea in the world to run his lips over the arch of Cas' foot.  In hindsight, he realizes he's lucky Cas didn't turn out to be ticklish and that he received filthy sounds of encouragement instead of a foot to the nose.  He'd kissed and sucked and nibbled at Cas' feet until Cas got tired of waiting for more.  

When Cas surged up from his prone position on the the bed and shoved his dick between the lips that had been teasing his feet, Dean hadn't protested.  He'd let Cas fuck his mouth, breathing through his nose, and gripping Cas' ass to pull him deeper.  Hot, sweet cum filled his throat, triggering his own orgasm, and nearly knocking him comatose for a while.  Cas snuggled in next to him, plucking gently at Dean’s nipples while he floated along on his high. 

"I guess I have a foot fetish," Dean mumbled through his post-coital haze almost half an hour later.  "So you'll have to wear shoes, 'cause I'm not kissing your dirty feet." 

Dean smiles at the memory of Cas' sour frown.  But he'd agreed, and Dean had taken mercy on him and got him a pair of flip flops so he wouldn't feel so confined.  He'll worry about getting him to wear actual shoes if Cas is still with him come winter. 

His stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought of Cas not being around, and he scrambles for something to distract himself from it.  "Hey, Cas, do you like music?"   

CCR is playing softly on the radio, but Cas doesn't seem to have noticed.  Until Dean spoke, he'd been watching the steady slide of scenery passing the window, but now he turns his attention to Dean.  In the bright mid-morning sunlight, his pupils are contracted so tightly that they're barely visible in the surrounding blue.  He shrugs slowly, almost lazily.  "I do not dislike it." 

A frown creases Dean's brow as he glances back and forth between the road and the demon.  "Have you listened to music before?" 

The side of Cas' lips tick up in a half smile.  "Why do you think I haven't?" 

Okay yeah, it is kind of a dumb question.  Dean shrugs and keeps his eyes on the road so he doesn't have to see Cas' smirk.  "I dunno, man.  I wasn't sure if you'd ever had the chance." 

"I have not heard a lot of human music.  But there is much of it in my own world.  Some of it is enjoyable, and some of it-" he pauses as if searching for the right words, "-some of it, I could happily do without." 

"Yeah, that sounds kind of like what we have - wait, so there's music in Hell?"  Dean's gaze is pulled back to Cas, checking for truth in his expression. 

Cas frowns at him.  "I've told you, there is more to the demon realm than you know.  Hell is only a small corner of the world I come from.  It is not nearly as unpleasant in my home lands as you humans seem to believe." 

"Huh." Dean goes quiet as he considers Cas' words.  He has a million questions crowding behind his teeth; what is Cas' home world like?  What is his music like?  Do all demons walk around naked?  He's mostly sure the answer to that last question is no, since Cas is the first demon he's ever summoned that wasn't already wearing something.   

The question that burns brightest among the others is _why don't I know this already?_ Granted, before today he hasn’t really been curious about the demon realm, but it seems strange that these are things he didn't learn in school.  He went to Stanford for a degree in High Sorcery, and he comes from two old-blood caster families.  He can understand if he didn't learn anything detailed about the demon realms from the Winchester side of his family since members of The Men of Letters are secretive as fuck, and American education has huge holes in it when it comes to races (human or not apparently) that the old white dudes in charge don’t like. But at the very least, it seems like something he would have learned from his mother. 

Then again, she'd died before his official education started.  Maybe she would have taught him more than what could be found in the official text books if she'd lived to long enough.   

Come to think of it, that book he read about succubi and incubi in was probably one of hers.  He _really_ needs to find it. 

But he's got something better than a book.  He's got an actual demon sitting less than a foot away.  “So,” he drags the word out.  “Why don’t you tell me about it?” 

“Tell you about what?” 

He catches Cas’ surprised look and gives a tiny shrug as he turns his attention firmly back on the road, signaling to change lanes to avoid a bunch of cars entering the highway.  “You know… about your world.  Like music; I didn’t know demons had instruments.” 

“They don’t.” Cas shifts, lifting his feet onto the bench seat so that he can cross his legs.  “Not in the same sense that humans do.” 

Dean notices Cas slipped his shoes off, and he resists the temptation to reach out and tug on a toe.  He has no idea where the impulse is coming from (he is _not_ developing a foot fetish!), but his fingers twitch on the steering wheel, and he grips it tight to keep his hands where they are.  “What do they use then?” 

Cas raises his hands, weaving his fingers through the space in front of him as if he’s trying to pull shapes from the air.  “The demon realms do not ‘exist’ in the same way the human realms do.  We can will things into being, and once our will is no longer exerted, those things cease to exist.  So we create instruments from the ether.  No two are ever alike.” 

“Wow,” Dean breathes, blinking dumbly at the road disappearing below the edge of the Impala’s hood. 

“Most of our music is vocal,” Cas continues, dropping his hands in his lap.  “Why create an instrument when all the sounds in the world can be created from the throat?” 

Dean slants a skeptical look at Cas.  “C’mon, really?  ‘All the sounds in the world’?” 

“We can reshape ourselves as well as our environment,” Cas replies.  “Why wouldn’t we be able to reshape our vocal abilities?” 

“Are you saying that everyone in the demon realms is a shapeshifter?”  Dean is fascinated.  He knows some demons can change their physical forms.  It takes a lot of power to do so, and most of the lower caste demons don’t bother.  But he didn’t know they all could do it when they are in their own realm. 

Cas shakes his head.  “Not exactly.  It is more that we do not have physical forms until we come to the human realm.  We do have True Forms though; our bodies automatically manifest in your world in a certain way unless we exert enough willpower to change.  It is difficult, and not all demons have the ability or the inclination to shift.” 

Rolling that around in his head, Dean casts another glance at Cas.  The demon is leaning lazily against the window on his side of the car.  His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks like a sleepy cat, more than halfway to falling asleep.  The pheromones in the air seemed to have thinned out as well.  “Are you in your true form now, Cas?” he asks on impulse. 

“No,” Cas rolls his head against the window in a negative motion.  “My true form is not attractive to humans.” 

"What is that supposed to mean?  Are you slimy and deformed or something?"  The mental image of a hunched monster that is more teeth than face, with gnarled and scaly limbs flits through his imagination, and somehow it's not as much of a turnoff as he feels like it should be. 

Cas' eyes narrow and his voice is flat with irritation.  "No." 

"So tell me what you look like then." 

"No." 

Well now Dean is really curious.  "What, then?  Scales?  A pointy tail?  Spines?"  He snaps his fingers.  "Wait, wait.  I'll bet you look like a giant old fat man with too much body hair and a crooked dick." 

Cas doesn't even crack a smile, which Dean thinks is beyond hilarious.  He leans his head back and laughs, holding his stomach with one hand while doing his best to steer the car with the other.  "Oh man, Cas," he huffs through the tail end of his laughter.  "You look like you just got a whiff of dirty gym shoes." 

"I assume that isn't a good thing," Cas deadpans. 

Dean shakes his head, grinning so wide his cheeks ache.  The demon's lips twitch a few times before he smiles in return, and it transforms him, making him look more human than ever despite his weird cat eyes.  Warmth builds up in Dean's chest, and he realizes with a sense of wonder that he's actually kinda glad that Cas is with him.  Not because he doesn't like to hunt alone (he doesn't like it; he always enjoys it more when he's with John or Sam), but because he's genuinely enjoying the conversation. 

He thinks he should find that weird, but he decides not to dwell on it.  Not when he's got Cas talking about thin.  "C'mon, Cas.  You gotta tell me something about your true form or I'm going with 'ugly old dude'." 

At first it doesn't seem like Cas is going to answer, and Dean shoves down a surge of disappointment.  But after a moment of thoughtful silence, Cas sighs and says "I have wings." 

"Really?  Dude that's actually kind of awesome.  Why would you think that's unattractive?" 

Cas shrugs.  "Maybe 'unattractive' is incorrect.  'Terrifying' might be a more accurate description." 

Dean isn't sure what would make wings terrifying.  "Have you shown your true form to a human before?" 

"Once." 

"I take it that didn't go well." 

"She was not pleased, no."  Cas plucks at the hem of his shirt, an unconsciously nervous movement that seems out of character for the demon.  "She had summoned me because she was barren and hoped my seed would heal her womb." 

Dean snorts.  Fertility magic usually requires sex, and it’s even more powerful when an immortal creature is involved in the ceremony.  "And she got one look at you and decided she didn't want to get knocked up by a demon, huh?" 

"Something like that," Cas answers with a shrug.  "I had never been to the human realm before and was pulled from my world without warning.  I did not know what to expect." 

"How long ago was this?" 

"Three millennia by the way you measure time." 

"Wow.  Cas you're _old."_ Most immortals that he has dealt with are only a few hundred years old.  

Cas huffs at him, his nose wrinkled with displeasure.  "Or maybe you are an infant." 

Dean barks another laugh.  "Dude, that makes you a cradle robber." 

"I would _never_ steal a child." 

The fury in Cas' voice surprises Dean, and he looks over to see that Cas is glaring at him with nearly black eyes.  Only a very thin ring of blue is visible, and he's tensed in a way that seems vaguely threatening.  Dean swallows, suddenly nervous.  He doesn't really think Cas is a danger to him anymore, but he's smart enough to be wary.  "I didn't mean it literally, Cas.  It's just a figure of speech." 

Cas' pupils contract back into ovals, and he tilts his head in confusion.  "That is an odd turn of phrase.  Do humans think stealing children is amusing?" 

Explaining the concept of hyperbole is an activity Dean would really rather skip.  "Never mind, Cas.  It's just a stupid joke.  So, wings huh?  What else?  Claws?  Scales?”  Cas presses his lips together, obviously unwilling to expound on the subject, so Dean changes direction.  “If you’re able to change your shape, what’s with your eyes?  Wouldn’t it be easier to blend in if they were human-like?” 

“I happen to like my eyes,” Cas says blandly.   

Dean smiles.  “I like them too, Cas.” 

A very attractive flush rises up under Cas’ skin, and he looks away from Dean.  “Thank you, Michael.” 

Is he… being shy?  Cas has always been so sure of himself, but one little compliment and he’s blushing like a schoolgirl.   

He remembers the first night Cas visited him, and how he’d listed out all of Dean’s features that make him - Dean shudders internally - _beautiful_.  Cas obviously appreciates human aesthetics, and it makes Dean wonder if that’s part of why he chose to present himself in his current form.  Dean’s always had a thing for brunettes, so he kind of loves Cas’ messy brown hair.  He also likes the perpetual stubble of his squared jaw, and the little dip in the center of his chin.  And his body… well Dean’s never gotten up close and personal with another man before, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t find many that would equal Cas. 

Before the thought is fully formed, he’s speaking.  “You’re actually pretty fuckin’ hot, Cas.  Weird eyes and everything.” 

Despite the air flowing through the Impala’s cabin, suddenly the scent of honey and cloves is almost overwhelming.  Dean’s mouth goes dry, his heart speeds up, and the car starts to slow because he’s not able to concentrate on driving in a straight line and keeping his foot on the gas at the same time.   

Cas moves to close the small space between them, and Dean clenches his fingers tightly around the steering wheel.  He keeps his eyes trained on the lines of the highway, but he’s painfully aware of Cas’ breath against the side of his face.  “Painfully”because he’s suddenly rock hard in his jeans, and they’re pinching him in delicate places.   

“Is that true, Michael?” 

 _Denial, denial, denial._ “Yeah, Cas.”   _Fuck!_  

Soft lips caress the shell of Dean’s ear.  “Even though I am not a female?” 

Shit, Cas is going to make him admit it out loud.  Dean presses his lips together.  Yeah, he’s coming to terms with his attraction to Cas, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let him use it as a weapon against him.  He’s already fallen far enough under Cas’ spell, and he needs to draw the line somewhere. 

“Michael?” 

Dean shivers.  God, Cas’ _voice_ is a damn weapon.  His chest begins to burn, and he huffs out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  A fresh cloud of pheromones surrounds him, and he pulls it in through his mouth and nose at the same time, needing every molecule of it he can get.  “Yeah,” he agrees weakly.   

A warm hand cups the back of his neck, massaging the tight muscles, and Dean moans softly.  He wants to lean into the touch, but he’s still driving so he stays still.   

Then Cas’s other hand finds its way to the bulge in his jeans, and Dean flinches.  “Uh, Cas?  What’re you doing?” 

“Do you think you can control this vehicle safely while I suck your cock, Michael?” 

Road head?   _Really?_ He grunts because a fresh surge of blood to his groin is making his pants even more uncomfortable.  “I dunno, Cas…”  What the hell is he saying?  He’s a red-blooded, young, healthy man.  Fuck yeah, he wants road head.  He lets go of the steering wheel with one hand, and scrambles for the button of his jeans. 

Cas brushes his hand out of the way and takes over, his fingers far more nimble than Dean’s.  They easily pop the button free and slide the zipper down.  The relief from the pressure makes Dean sigh, and he presses his shoulders further back against the seat to give Cas more room to work.  Long fingers slip into the open flaps of denim, and Cas makes a small noise of approval when he discovers that Dean is going commando.   

“Yeah, hush,” Dean manages to grit out through a tight, yet genuine smile.  “Wearing layers around you is counter productive.” 

“It could be argued that wearing any clothing at all is counter productive,” Cas says with a smirk, before ducking down under Dean’s arm and wrapping his lips around the head of Dean’s aching dick. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean pants.   

 _Both hands on the wheel, both hands on the wheel.  Eyes on the road, oh fuck jesus-_ “Holy shit, Cas, do that again!” 

Cas obeys, pressing the tip of his tongue against the head of Dean’s dick, probing deeply at the slit, then taking Dean deep into his mouth.  The angle isn’t quite right, but somehow he still manages to wrap his tongue around all the best places even as he sinks down even further. 

Dean wiggles his hips when Cas tugs at his jeans, and the car swerves a little.  There’s a honk to his left, and he jerks his head around to see a woman in a mini-van accelerating out of his blind spot.  He smiles stiffly at her, and lifts one hand - _dangerous, Dean! Hands on the wheel! -_ in a short wave.   

She glares her displeasure at him, and pulls ahead of him.   

It’s hilarious, but Dean doesn’t have the breath to laugh.   

Cas bobs his head slowly, the drag of slick lips nearly distracting Dean from the almost there brush of sharp teeth.  Dean sucks in a breath, one part terrified Cas will break the skin, one part frantically trying to ignore the rising desire for Cas to mark him with his teeth again. 

God dammit, he does _not_ want Cas to bite his dick!  But he does want to feel the sting of fangs slicing into his skin, smooth as a fine blade going through silk.  He drops a hand and curls his fingers in Cas' hair, pushing him down until the back of his throat squeezes around the head of Dean's dick.  The dangerous scrape of fangs against the base of his dick sparks the beginning of his orgasm and he lets out a small shout when it swells out of him, pumping cum into Cas' throat and forcing him to swallow or choke. 

It's rude, and something he's never done to another partner, but his guilt is staved off by the happy noises Cas makes as he gulps down every drop.   

Dean's muscles relax and his eyes become heavy with a sudden lethargy. He blinks sleepily, absently petting his fingers through Cas' hair, even as he does his best to keep his focus so he doesn't drive them off the road.  Cas' mouth is warm and wet around his dick, but the gentle press of his lips and slow strokes of his tongue do not seem to be intended to keep him hard for a round two.  But he also doesn't show any signs of stopping, even as Dean's dick spends in his mouth. 

When Cas shifts into a more comfortable position on the bench seat, Dean realizes he intends to stay where he is for a while.  "Cas," he mumbles through lips that feel too thick to properly form words.  "You don't have to do that." 

Cas' shoulders shift in an awkward shrug, but he makes no move to stop.  One of his hands slips down from the seat, and warm fingers find their way up under the cuff of his jeans and wrap around Dean's ankle.  Keeping that foot pressed down on the accelerator has never felt like a chore, but the touch soothes a tension in his muscles he hadn't been aware of.   

"Well alright then," Dean concedes, hoping no semi trucks pass him and get an eyefull.  He checks his mirrors, noting the other vehicles on the road with him.  There's a semi several car lengths back, but it doesn't seem to be gaining on him.  He makes a mental note to keep checking.  

He scratches his nails over Cas' scalp and down the back of his neck, and is rewarded for it when the low rumble of a purr begins to vibrate through the demon's body.  Dean's lips twitch into a smile.  Cas said his true form has wings, but Dean can't help picturing Cas as a giant cat. 

Driving with his dick in Cas' mouth is easier than he expects it to be.  The post-orgasm lethargy never quite fades, but he's accustomed to being on the road for hours and even days at a time.  He knows his limits, and he's not drowsy enough to bother with pulling over somewhere for a power nap.   

He turns up the radio then drops his fingers back to Cas' silky hair, petting and scratching his scalp and ears and neck.  The vibration of Cas' purr is pleasant around his dick, keeping him on a fine edge between relaxation and arousal.  Warm puffs of air caress the skin around his groin as Cas breathes in a slow rhythm that makes Dean suspect he might have fallen asleep. 

He's not sure if Cas does sleep, come to think of it.  Dean's always out like a light before the demon even closes his eyes. 

"Hey, Cas?"   

There's no answer so he tries again a little louder.  "Cas?" 

"Hmm?"   

Dean twitches at the vibration.   

"Are you asleep?"  He realizes it's a stupid question as soon as it's out of his mouth, but his mind is fuzzy around the edges, and he's still using most of his mental faculties for driving. 

"Hmm." 

He's not sure if the soft hum is confirmation or not.  If Cas isn't taking a nap, he's definitely relaxing like he is, and Dean doesn't begrudge him the rest.  And besides, this sort of half cuddling they're doing is kind of nice.  Weird, with the whole cock-warming thing since he didn't know that was a thing that happened outside of BDSM porn (shut up, he watched it for science), but nice. 

A glance at the gas gauge tells him he won't need to stop to refuel for a few hours.  He's half tempted to find a gas station anyway just to pick up some coffee or an energy drink to combat the sleepy fog surrounding him, but he's reluctant to disturb his passenger. 

Deciding he can go a little while without caffeine or a nap, he stays on the road.  He passes the time singing softly along with the radio, and mentally planning his course of action for when they get to their destination the next day. 

When he eventually realizes his mind is starting to wander, and his eyes are getting heavy he starts looking for an exit.  A sign advertising a Shell station and a couple fast food restaurants catches his attention a few miles later and he follows it to tiny two pump gas station just off the interstate.   

Cas stirs when the car rocks through the turn into the parking lot.  He lifts his head and Dean's dick, which has been soft since the surprise BJ (really, he shouldn't have been surprised at all) starts filling with blood, going half-hard at the slick friction of sliding out of Cas' lips.  He looks up at Dean with lazy blue eyes, the pupils narrowing when rays of sunlight pass over his face.  He doesn't speak, but his curiosity is written all over. 

"I need some caffeine, or I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel," Dean explains.  He stops the car at the pump, looking around to make sure he won't have an audience before reluctantly tucking his half-woody back in his jeans and doing up his fly.  The flash of disappointment on Cas' expression makes him look like his favorite toy is being put back in the toybox before he’s done playing with it.  Dean laughs, and ruffles Cas' hair.  "You can play later." 

When he realizes what he just did, Dean jerks his hand away.  The casual gesture could be interpreted as affection, and while he does like Cas, he doesn't want to give him the impression that they are anything more than fuck buddies. 

 _Not fuck buddies.  Mates._  

Dean feels the blood drain out of his face at the tiny mental voice.   

Cas notices his discomfort, his head tilting to get a better look at Dean.  "Michael?  Is everything okay?" 

 _Deflect!_  

"Yeah, Cas.  Everything's great."  He winces at the too-high pitch of his voice and clears his throat.  "I'm, uh," he gestures at the gas pump.  "Just gonna fill the tank and get some snacks.  You wanna hit the head or anything, now's the time cuz we'll be on the road again for a while after this." 

Cas frowns.  "Why would I hit someone's head?" 

It takes a moment for that to sink in, and then Dean rolls his eyes.  "Hit the can?  Tap a kidney?  Water the flowers?" He snorts a laugh when each phrase makes Cas frown harder.  "Dude, do you need to take a piss?" 

“Would it not be more simple to just say what you mean?” Cas grouses.  It’s a rhetorical question, because he shakes his head and continues.  “I do not eat or drink as humans do.  So I do not need to…” 

“Piss?” Dean offers with a grin.  Cas narrows his eyes, and Dean should probably be intimidated by that look, but he’s learning to read the demon’s expressions and he recognizes it for _annoyed at Dean’s dumb ass_ and not _maybe I should eat this dude and put us both out of our misery._ He puts up his hands in a defensive gesture.  “Fine, fine, I get it.  No human food, no human waste.  Awesome.  But I’m gonna be a few minutes, ‘cause I’m going to do all those fun human things like getting snacks and taking a leak.  Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.” 

Cas’ frown deepens and he looks around.  The lot in front of the gas station’s lot is empty, and the Impala is the only car at the small row of pumps.  “I’m not sure what kind of trouble I could get into.” 

Dean almost tells him not to go around fucking anyone besides him, but decides that kind of teasing may give Cas ideas.  A burning sensation below his sternum that feels suspiciously like possessiveness rises up in his chest, and he decides it’s time to distract himself.  “Good then!”  He doesn’t wait for a response before popping the door open and sliding out of the car.   

Cas gets out too, and comes around to Dean’s side of the car.  He watches Dean run his credit card through the machine with attentive curiosity.   

“Never seen a gas pump before?” Dean asks. 

“I have not.” 

“Want to try it?” Dean offers.  “You can fill up the car while I go inside.” 

Cas agrees, and Dean takes a few moments to explain how the payment system works, how to select a grade, and how to work the handle on the nozzle.  Once he’s sure Cas is going to be okay without any further guidance, he heads into the station. 

He grabs a couple bags of chips, some spicy jerky, a pack of Twizzlers, and after eyeing the pot of coffee that looks pale enough to almost be considered tea he gets several cans of Red Bull.  He wasn’t kidding when he told Cas he might nod off while driving, and he wants to get at least three quarters of the way to their destination before he caves in and finds a motel.   

With his arms full of unhealthy snacks and beverages, Dean pauses next to the refrigerated beverages.  After a moment he shuffles everything around so he can fumble the door open and reach in for a large bottle of water.  Cas’ll want him to keep hydrated. 

The thought makes him blush, and he almost puts the bottle back.  But he is always thirsty these days, and usually starving, so he decides to quit being an idiot and takes it with him to the register. 

The woman behind the counter is on the far side of Over the Hill, and obviously never got over her teeny-bopper crush on everything Madonna.  Her silvering hair is poofed out and up in a way that only a can of Aqua Net can accomplish , with a purple streak dyed at one temple.  Her bright pink lipstick clashes with the teal eyeshadow, and she’s wearing an honest-to-god New Kids on the Block t-shirt over long fishnet sleeves.  He can’t see below her waist, but he’s sure he’ll see three multi-colored belts and a tutu if he leans far enough over the counter. 

She smiles at him even as she pops the gum she’s vigorously chewing.  “Boys only road trip, huh?”   

His kneejerk reaction is to deny that he’s gay, but the rational part of his brain points out that she has no reason to think there’s any hanky panky going on between him and Cas.  “Uh, sort of.  More of a business trip.” 

“Eh, close enough.”  She starts ringing up the pile of snacks on the counter, and waves the pack of Twizzlers at him.  “Always gotta have these on a roadtrip.  I need something to put in my mouth.” 

He almost chokes on his own spit when her words remind him of what Cas has had in his mouth for the last few hours of the drive.  He coughs through it, and hopes that she thinks his inability to breath air like a functioning human is the reason his face is burning.  “Yeah, I hear you.” 

She scans the first can of Red Bull and the machine lets out a dissenting beep.  She frowns, and starts poking at buttons, but it doesn’t seem to want to ring up a price.  With a put upon sigh she starts entering codes in manually.  Dean shifts from one foot to another, not from impatience, but just making himself more comfortable while he waits.  The woman notices though, and eyes him with a smirk.  “Don’t you worry, sweetie.  You’ll be able to get back to your boyfriend in a minute.” 

“He’s not my-” he cuts off and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, chasing at a prickle that started as soon as he tried to deny his relationship to Cas.  “It’s a business trip,” he says again, but his voice is weak and he can tell she doesn’t believe him. 

She finishes with the Red Bull, and casts a glance out at Cas.  “Uh huh.  He’s totally dressed for a business trip.” 

Dean follows her gaze and sees that Cas has finished gassing up the Impala and is walking toward the store.  The thin cloth of the lounge pants he’s wearing not only ride low enough on his hips that a few tufts of pubic hair are visible, but Dean can also see the sway of his dick _through_ them.   

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.   _That,_ Dean thinks, _is the epitome of Sex Walking._  

When he tears his eyes away, he finds the woman watching him with knowing amusement as she bags up his purchases.  There’s no way she can mistake the heat in his cheeks for anything besides a blush at this point.  Telling himself that it doesn’t matter because he’ll never see her again, Dean digs his wallet out and plucks enough cash to cover his purchase out of it, passing the bills across the counter to her. 

She takes her time poking the machine’s buttons, and counting out his change.  The jingle of the bell over the door makes her pause, and she looks up to smirk at Cas.  “Hey there, honey.  I’m almost done here, so you can have your man back in a moment.” 

“Thank you,” Cas says seriously as he crosses to stand too close to Dean’s side.  One of his hands tucks itself into Dean’s back pocket. 

She notices, lifting a questioning brow at him like she’s waiting for another denial.  Whatever, it doesn’t matter and he’s not going to let someone he doesn’t know give him shit for his lifestyle.  At least under the buzzing fluorescent lights, Cas’ pupils are relaxed into a wide enough oval that she may not notice how unnatural they look.  She might go from teasing to freaking the fuck out if she thinks he’s fucking a demon instead of just some hot guy. 

Dean clamps his lips shut in a tight smile and takes the change she passes him.  Before he can grab the bag containing his purchases, Cas reaches for it, picking it up as if shopping is something he does on a regular basis.  Dean nudges him toward the door, and follows him out. 

Just before the door swings shut behind him, he hears “Mm, mm, mmm… that’s a sandwich I would _love_ to be in the middle of.” 

The tension drains out of his shoulders, and he chuckles.  Following behind Cas and watching the completely unfeminine sway of his hips, and the way the crack of his ass flirts at him from beneath the edge of the precariously loose lounge pants, Dean can completely understand her sentiment.

Once they’re settled back in the Impala, Dean digs out a can of Red Bull, pops the tab and swallows down half of it in three long gulps.  He lets the belch rumble up from his stomach, and snickers at Cas’ wrinkled nose.  “You think I’m ‘beautiful’,” he teases as he starts up the car and starts pulling out of the noisy gravel of the parking lot with only one hand on the wheel. 

“At the moment, I’m questioning my original assessment.” 

Dean laughs and takes another swig.  The next belch is smaller, but Cas’ scrunched up disapproval face is no less entertaining. 

Cas pokes through the bag sitting on the seat between them, examining the ingredients of each snack.  He looks up from the bag of jerky.  “The sodium content in this is very unhealthy.  Are you sure you should be eating it?” 

It’s almost like having Sam with him. 

Only sexier.  And at least now when people accuse him of bumping uglies with his passenger, it’s way less incesty, and actually true.   

“It’s road trip food, Cas.  It’s not supposed to be healthy  Open that up and pass me a piece.”

Cas grumbles, but his typical desire to keep Dean fed must override his objections to the sodium content.  He rips the bag open and pulls out a large strip of dried meat to hand to Dean.

Dean takes a huge bite of it and grins as he chews vigorously.  “Y’know what, Cas?  Road trips are awesome.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas nod solemnly.  “Indeed they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter was soooooo stubborn. I wrote three different versions, and threw away some _really_ good stuff that I'm hoping I can use later. Obviously I didn't really throw that stuff out, but it's in the "Can't Use This" folder. *sheds a tear for lost scenes*
> 
> Anyway, Road Head: Fun but dangerous! Fellate responsibly! And remember that truckers can usually see down into your car, so if you're not an exhibitionist, watch out for them :D
> 
> Side note about "Hell". It's not Hell like we think about it, or even how it is in the SPN universe. It's kind of an amalgamation of several of my favorite versions of Hell or The Demon Realm from video games, books, movies, etc. Demons can possess a human, but they don't need to. The ones that do are the extra mean kind. Not all supernatural creatures in this world are demons, but some of them are descended from human/demon relations. There's no such thing as "Angels" in the conventional sense. They're just a really high order of scary monsters. I don't know if I'll use them in this story; probably not since I don't really have a reason to at this point. But I world building happens in my head whether I show it off in the story or not :)


	11. Chapter 11

The blare of Dean's alarm would probably be more effective if he'd set it to something high pitched and obnoxious instead of some upbeat Led Zeppelin.  As it is, it takes a few minutes for the chorus to break through the walls of exhaustion around his consciousness.   

With a groan, he presses his eyes tighter shut and nuzzles closer to the warm wall of Cas' chest.  The music stops after a minute, and he sighs his relief. 

Fingertips rub softly at his scalp, doing nothing to motivate him to get out of bed.  In fact, the gentle massage has the complete opposite effect, and his already languid muscles melt even further. 

"Michael." 

Dean wrinkles his nose.   _Wrong name._  

 _"_ Michael, you told me not to let you sleep in." 

Had he?  Sounds like something he would do because sometimes he's a fucking moron. 

The fingers on his scalp pause, and tug at his hair.  Not hard enough to even sting, but it does pull him an inch our two closer to wakefulness.  "Ten more minutes, Cas,"  He mumbles. 

The massage resumes.  Awesome. 

He sinks quickly back into the arms of Morpheus, and into a dream that is mostly memory.  Cas, spread out and loose-limbed as Dean settles between his legs and leisurely laps at the combination of slick and cum leaking out of his ass.  Cas murmuring praise, telling Dean how much he enjoys his pretty mouth.  Cas eventually demanding Dean fuck him again. 

In the dream, Dean eagerly scrambles to his knees, pressing one of Cas' thighs up to his shoulder while using the other hand to guide the head of his dick to Cas' rim, pressing forward until the muscle spreads to accept him.  Dean groans and- 

The fucking alarm goes off again, jerking him out of the dream.  He mumbles a spell, and the sound cuts off abruptly.   

"It's been ten minutes." 

"Don't care."  Dean shifts, sliding his hand from where it was resting on Cas' belly to hook around his waist, pulling himself closer.  He throws a leg over Cas' thighs for good measure.   

He knows he has to get up because they need to get back on the road so they can get to Whitefish by afternoon.  But he'd much rather lie in bed for the rest of eternity.  Or at least until he has enough energy to fuck Cas into the mattress again. 

His lips tilt up in a lazy smile.  He'd been right about how awesome motel sex with Cas would be.  He'd been pretty tired by the time they pulled into the motel parking lot, bad enough that the guy in the office had actually looked concerned when he'd passed Dean his key card and wished him goodnight.   

Dean had every intention of falling face first onto the bed and not moving till morning, but Cas threw a wrench in those plans with a venom-filled kiss.  It energized Dean and they spent the next several hours disturbing their neighbors with loud and vigorous sex. 

He probably ought to regret the lack of sleep now that he actually has to get up, but he doesn't.  Not at all.   

Not even with the shadow of a headache starting to thump lightly in his temples, warning of things to come if he doesn't load up on caffeine asap, or get at least a week's worth of uninterrupted sleep.  Or at least a few more hours.  That he can do, right here, right now, and it sounds a lot better than getting vertical, getting dressed, and getting on the road to find a coffee shop. 

He starts to doze again, but this time he stays lucid enough to deliberately pull up the memories of what he and Cas had done instead of sleeping.  Mouths and hands and cocks; name a combination and they'd done it.  But then Dean had claimed Cas' ass as his playground, filling him over and over until his body gave out and he was physically incapable of fucking him anymore. 

So Cas had ridden him.  Fuck, he had been gorgeous doing it too.  His golden skin shimmering with sweat and streaks of his own seed, over muscles that flexed and rolled with sensual slowness.  Cas' blue irises shimmering around dilated pupils, sharp teeth clamped down on swollen lips. 

Dean's Mr. Happy sits up and pants at the memory. 

"It's been ten minutes again." 

Dean scowls and makes a low sound of protest.  Turning his face into Cas' chest, he runs his lips over a pebbled nipple.  "Ten more minutes," he breathes before sucking the hardened flesh into his mouth. 

Cas moans, and the fingers that has been massaging Dean's scalp close over the back of his skull, encouraging Dean to stay where he is.  "Are you certain, Michael?  You were adamant last night-" 

 _Wrong name!_ Dean bites down with a growl, hard enough to sting but not to do any real damage.  He shifts again so that more of his body is draped over Cas'.  When Cas gasps, then rumbles with a pleased purr, Dean laps his tongue over the abused area in silent apology. 

His eyes are still closed and he's caught halfway between sleep and the waking world.  The hand that he's not partially laying on starts to explore, skating over lean ribs and combing through Cas' thin happy trail, before going lower and closing around Cas' hard and throbbing dick. 

A week ago, the very idea of holding any dick besides his own would have horrified him.  But now he relishes the heavy weight in his palm. 

It's amazing how quick good sex - scratch that - _mind blowing_ sex can make a guy come to terms with his sexuality.   

He knows it's the venom making him crave cock, but it's a distant knowledge.  And completely irrelevant when he's got the only dick in his hand besides his own that gives him a real good time. 

Hmm... maybe two dicks in his hand would be better.  He moves again, straddling Cas' hips so their dicks slot together and he's able to wrap his fingers around both of them.  It's a stretch because Cas' dick is pornstar thick, and Dean's is no Slim-Jim.  Bracing himself with a palm on the bed at Cas' shoulder, Dean pushes himself up so he can look down between their bodies at where they're pressed together so intimately. 

Peeling his eyes open takes an effort because sleep still has him wrapped in its tendrils, but the sight that greets him sends a jolt of _whoa, wake up!_ to his brain faster than a shot of espresso. 

Both of their dicks are flushed and leaking precum all over the place.  Cas' foreskin is bunched up around the head, but Dean can still see fluid dribbling from the tip.  Suddenly his mouth feels like the fucking Sahara, and he knows with the certainty of a man dying of dehydration that Cas' cum is the only thing that will quench his thirst. 

Cas must be a mind reader because he swipes his thumb through the tiny puddle of precum growing on his belly, and lifts it to Dean's mouth.  The explosion of sweet musk on his tongue nearly makes Dean blow his load right then and there, but it's not quite enough.  He knows how to get what he needs though.   

He strokes his hand up over the heads of both their dicks, gathering and mixing their precum enough to slick his palm, and then starts up a deliberate rhythm designed to get them off quick because he's too desperate for Cas' cum to tease either one of them.   

He can get a hit of what he needs from Cas' mouth, but as much as he loves Cas' honeyed kisses, he really craves the Good Stuff. 

Cas still has his thumb in Dean's mouth, his palm cupping Dean's face.  His thumb flexes slightly, as if to pull free, but Dean sucks on the digit before doing his best to wrap his tongue around it in the same way Cas does when he's got Dean's dick in his mouth.   

"Michael..."

 _Dean._  

"My beautiful human.  That's it, fuck your fist, Michael." 

 _Dean!_  

 _"_ Make us come, Michael, and you'll have what you need," Cas murmurs, completely unaware of the fact that the press of his thumb against Dean's tongue is the only thing between him and finding out the rest of Dean's True Name.  The counter spell is only a few words, and Dean can lift the shield over his name with a single breath. 

Dean should be terrified of how much he wants to hear his name from the demon's lips, but the part of his brain in charge of all his animal instincts, such as fear or self preservation, is currently too occupied with lust, and multitasking is out of the question.  He lets Cas' gravelly voice guide him, his hips fucking forward with each downward swipe of his palm, even as Cas presses up to meet each thrust.   

His eyes are glued to Cas', watching the pupils expand, waiting impatiently for a sign that he's as close to the edge as Dean is.  He feels light-headed, the room around them spinning at the edges of his vision.  Air saws roughly in and out of his lungs, and he becomes aware of a tiny whine escaping him every few exhales.  He needs to come, needs _Cas_ to come- 

"Please, Cas," he nearly sobs, his words slurred around the thumb Cas still has pressed in his mouth. 

Cas surges up from the pillows and captures Dean's mouth with his own.  And at the first hint of honey and cloves on his tongue, Dean's whole body shudders violently.   

For a moment Dean's heart soars with relief, until he realizes that he's still balanced at the razor's edge of his climax, but still hovering on the wrong side of it.  He makes a broken sound against Cas' lips, licking deep into his mouth for more venom. 

He doesn't realize he's stopped stroking their dicks until he feels Cas reach between them, wrapping fingers that look too delicate to be so strong around Dean's.  He pumps them together to the rapid beat of Dean's heart 

Dean feels the hot splash of Cas' semen between their bellies, and his own orgasm overwhelms him, spreading out in waves with his dick at the epicenter.  Even as his body judders and shakes, he shoves Cas’ shoulders back on the bed and leans down to run his tongue through the sweet and salty puddles of their combined cum on Cas’ belly. 

He has just enough time to think _hey, best of both worlds!_ before Cas’ jizz does its magic and sends Dean careening through another orgasm.  If he were at all the poetic type - or even coherent enough to form words - he’d be describing the sensation as a million colors bursting under his skin, melting into new shades that humans can’t even perceive, much less imagine, before the fireworks show starts again. 

But he’s not poetic, or currently able to string together sounds into syllables into sentences, and besides, his tongue is busy quenching the thirst burning inside him.  And then the colors go white, blinding him and wiping even the semblance of thought away. 

When he eventually comes back to awareness, he is sprawled over Cas’ lower body, his face pillowed on Cas’ belly.  With supreme effort, he wrestles one eye open and immediately winces against the light in the room.  But his eyelids no longer protect him from the stabbing rays, and his head begins to thump again, the headache that was forgotten in the heat of sex returning with a vengeance.   

“Are you finally awake?” 

Dean groans, figuring that’s answer enough.  “W’time is it?” 

“Nearing noon, I believe.” 

Fuck.  His alarm had gone off at seven.  He’s not sure how long the morning nookie lasted, but he’s sure he’s been sleeping most of those hours away.  Cas is rubbing soothing circles at the base of Dean’s neck, so he doesn’t bother to move.  “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

Cas’ fingers pause, and there’s just a hint of worry in his voice when he responds.  “I tried.  You were too deeply asleep.” 

Dean’s brow wrinkles.  He lifts his head, wondering when most of his body mass moved to rest at the top of his shoulders because it’s a lot heavier than he remembers.  He blinks at Cas a few times until the demon’s face is no longer out of focus, and then blinks one more time for good measure.  “Really?” 

He’s never been a heavy sleeper, although since he’s started fucking Cas he’s certainly spent a lot more hours in bed than he normally would.  He thinks he should at least remember Cas’ attempts to wake him up, but when he struggles through the foggy memories of the morning, all he’s got is mental images of the early morning quicky. 

His lips twitch up into a smile, when he comes across those.   _Nice_. 

“Michael, are you feeling alright?”  Cas presses his palm first to Dean’s forehead, then to his cheek, and again to the side of his neck.  “You’re flushed.” 

Come to think of it, he does feel a little warm.  But Cas is putting out plenty of BTUs, and the bed’s comforter is pulled up over Dean’s shoulders.  It’s not exactly cold, so he’s probably just overheated from the cuddle session. 

He attempts to roll away from Cas, but it takes a few tries before his limbs obey him.  When he makes it onto his back, Cas sits up, leaning over him with a worried frown marring the skin between his brows.  Dean reaches up and rubs a thumb against the wrinkle in an attempt to smooth it out.  “I’m fine, Cas,” he says softly.  “I just need some breakfast and a shit-ton of caffeine.” 

Cas looks around the little room as if searching for a way to provide what Dean needs.  The motel they stopped at for the night is not fancy enough to have a coffee pot in the room.  Even if it had a mini-fridge there wouldn’t be any leftovers in it since Dean had inhaled every last bite of the burger, fries, and two slices of pie he’d ordered at the diner they’d stopped at the night before. 

What can he say?  Apparently road trips with Cas make him work up an appetite.   

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Dean grunts as he pushes himself onto his elbows.  He gives his legs a speculative look and wonders if they’ll obey him long enough to swing off the bed to the floor.  He feels like if he can make it that far, he’ll manage to stand up, walk his happy ass into the bathroom, and start his day. 

Jesus, he can’t believe it’s almost noon.  He’d hoped to be at their destination by now.  But now it’ll be late in the day by the time they get there.  Hopefully he’ll still be able to talk to the people he needs to before the town rolls up its roads for the evening.   

If they don’t linger too long getting ready, they can make it.  And if they can keep their hands off each other for the rest of the trip. 

Easier said than done, with Cas’ demon-y fresh pheromones filling the Impala for hours at a time.  The road head had taken the edge off at first, but they’d had to pull over twice during their trip the previous day to grope at each other in the back seat. 

Awesome, but time consuming.  “Okay, listen up,” Dean says as he finally manages to get his legs to obey his wishes and get him moving off the bed.  “No more car sex.  We can’t lose any more time.” 

He doesn’t get a response because as he tries to stand up, a wave of dizziness washes over him.  He nearly falls, but Cas is there to catch him and prop him up. 

“You’re ill.”  Cas’ pupils are narrowed into slits, the glow of his irises bright between his lashes.  “Maybe you should rest some more.  We can-” 

“Chill out, Cas.”  Dean brushes the demon’s hands away, locking his knees so that he can stay standing on his own.  “I’m just starving, and I’ll be fine as soon as I get some food in me.” 

Cas watches him closely for the length of several heartbeats, and Dean can tell he doesn’t quite buy the excuse.  But he finally dips his chin, acquiescing to Dean’s wish to stay vertical.  “I will fetch it for you.” 

That actually sounds like a fantastic idea, because Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to need a caloric kickstart before he’ll be safe to drive.  The diner is just across the street, and Cas should be safe enough to go there on his own.  Although… “Can you do something about your eyes?” He gestures at Cas’ face.  “Most people are cool with werewolves or a vamp or two in the city, but we’re in Podunk Nowheresville and I’d hate to have someone call in a monster sighting to the cops.” 

Cas nods solemnly, and his eyes narrow with concentration.  Behind his lashes, Dean sees his pupils round out, and his irises shrink slightly, giving him a more human look.  The blue glow fades away completely.  When he’s done, he blinks a few times then fixes his gaze on Dean.  “How is this?” 

 _Awful_.   

Cas is still gorgeous of course.  But Dean immediately misses the glowy cat-eyed look. 

He very carefully avoids thinking about the reasons why.  No one, including himself -make that _definitely_ himself, needs to go there. 

Reading Dean’s expression, Cas frowns, and his eyes shift back to the way they were before.  “You don’t like it.” 

“Kinda hate it,” Dean responds honestly.  He glances around, looking for where he tossed his duffle bag.  “I’ve got an idea, though.” 

Walking to the bag isn’t too difficult, but he nearly loses his balance bending over it.  He saves his dignity at the last moment though by crouching down next to it instead.  A glance at Cas tells him the demon didn't notice the moment of weakness, and he breathes out his relief.  He's starting to think he might be coming down with some kind of bug, and Cas already fusses over him more than he's comfortable with so he plans on keeping his symptoms to himself as much as possible.  DayQuil will solve everything anyway, 'cause that shit is truly magical despite being completely mundane, and he makes a mental note to pick up some at the next gas station. 

Rifling through the side pockets of his duffel he comes out with a pair of Ray Bans, and holds them out to Cas.  “Put these on.” 

Cas takes the sunglasses, examining them curiously as he unfolds them.  Then he slides them on, and looks to Dean for approval. 

 _Holy fuck, I want to blow him so hard right now,_ Dean thinks.  And it would be easy since Cas is still buck naked, and only a few steps away.  He coughs, and tries to remember that he needs food more than he needs a cock in his mouth.  “Uh, that’ll work.” 

There’s a slight glow behind the lenses, but hopefully it’ll be bright enough in the diner that people won’t really notice, or they’ll think it’s a reflection.  Dean’s pants are pooled on the floor nearby, and he reaches out to snag them, pulling his wallet out of the pocket.  Just to be safe, he pulls out a couple twenties and sets them on the bed.   

“Alright, that should be enough to get me the biggest breakfast on the menu, and the biggest coffee they got.  If there’s any change, let ‘em keep it.”  He doesn’t feel like explaining how tipping works, but he wants to make sure whoever has to deal with Cas’ come-fuck-me pheromones gets a little something for their disappointment when they can’t get into his pants. 

And speaking of pants.  “I know you don’t like the jeans, but you should wear them since you’re going to be around people.  No need to show them what you're packing downstairs.” 

The jeans are only slightly better at disguising Cas’ junk than the lounge pants, but something about the thicker cloth hiding it from the rest of the world makes Dean feel better. 

Not that he's being possessive or anything.  He's just concerned for the humans.   

Yeah.  That's totally it. 

And he keeps telling himself that when he makes Cas put on underwear and layer up on the shirts, despite the demon's grumbling.   

Once Cas is gone, Dean heads for the bathroom to do his morning routine.  Halfway through the shower, as he's soaping the sweat and semen from his skin, he realizes he sent Cas out in public while still marked with both of their bodily fluids.   

Holy shit, everyone in that dinner is going to take one look at Cas and see a man who has been very thoroughly fucked, and even if their eyes aren't working, they're sure to smell it on him.  Even as he curses himself for forgetting to make Cas get cleaned up, his dick is popping up and expressing its interest at the idea. 

Because Dean did that to Cas. 

"Fuck me," Dean grits out as he glares down at himself.  Again?  Really?  Whatever cold he seems to be coming down with isn't putting a dent in his libido. 

And if he doesn't take care of Buddy Boner before Cas gets back, they'll never get back on the road.   

Fifteen minutes later he realizes stroking one out doesn't seem to be working, and he curses in frustration.  Masturbation is supposed to be easy.  He's got years and years of practice getting himself off, and he's a pro at it.  But while his dick is still hard as a damn rock, he isn't getting anywhere with it today, even using all of his favorite tricks.  He even props a foot on the edge of the tub and fingers his ass with his free hand just to add a little variety to his normal yank and spank routine, but that only increases the urgency without bringing him any closer to a climax. 

The water is starting to cool, and he's just about ready to give up and just try to ignore the raging hard-on when the bathroom door opens.  The steam in the air immediately takes on the scent of honey and cloves. 

"Michael?" 

"Cas get your ass in here," Dean barks. 

The shower curtain pulls back and Dean huffs out a laugh.  Cas is still fully clothed, and wearing the Ray Bans, and he looks like he's getting ready to step over the side of the tub without bothering to remove any of it.  "Dude, get naked first." 

Cas practically beams at him, then he starts pulling off the offending articles.  He's naked within seconds, and then his body is pressing against Dean's.  "I could feel your need," he growls against Dean's ear.  "But I had to wait for your meal to cook." 

"Whatever, Cas."  Dean is too frantic to come to be creeped out that Cas knew all along that he was whacking it alone in the motel.  "Just help me." 

A venom filled kiss makes him whimper, and then Cas gets down to business, _thank fuck._  

They don't get checked out of the motel for another hour or so.   

*** 

It’s nearly seven by the time they reach Whitefish, so Dean decides to head straight to the sheriff's station before checking into a motel.  When he pulls into the parking lot he breathes out a grateful sigh when he sees there are still people bustling around in there. The sooner he can get this job done, the sooner he can take a three day nap. 

Dean gets out of the Impala, plucking at his robes irritably.  The day is cool for late spring, but he feels hot and sticky under his clothes.  The slight breeze does nothing to ease his plight since it barely ruffles the hem of his robes around his feet.  He wishes he'd decided to go naked under the robes like Castiel had slyly suggested before they left the motel, but he didn't want to risk a boner with nothing between him and the world except a thin piece of loosely flowing linen.  At least with his slacks, he'd have some kind of protection from that kind of embarrassment. 

With Cas around, he could pitch a tent at any given moment and he isn't willing to take the risk.   

He casts an envious glance at said demon.  Cas is wearing a another one of Dean's old long-sleeved henleys, in a faded green this time, and a pair of Dean's oldest jeans.  The denim is faded to a pale blue, with ragged holes in the knees and a few grease stains from times Dean was working on the Impala that no amount of washing would remove.  They're so soft that they mold themselves to Cas' thick thighs, the fabric shifting with his movements, sometimes tightening, sometimes loosening, and always distracting as fuck.   

In that get up, Cas is going to look completely out of place walking into the Sheriff's station, but it's not like Dean can really force him to dress in a suit or something.  Even though Cas is willingly serving Dean, he is still unbound and he has the right to say no to wearing clothing that makes him uncomfortable.   

Dean could push the issue, but he secretly likes seeing Cas in his old clothes. 

There is one thing that needs to be changed about Cas' look though, and the demon is probably going to hate it.  Dean won't back down on this issue though, because it's for Cas' protection this time.  And as the Warlock in their strange Buddy Cop duo, it's Dean's duty not only to protect humans from demons, but also to protect his demon from scared humans that know the words to a banishment spell. 

Bracing himself for an argument, Dean reaches into one of the many pockets of his robes (the only benefit to wearing them), and pulls out a collar.  "C'mere, Cas." 

Cas recognizes the collar for what it is and eyes it with distaste.  "I am bound to you by my word, Michael.  There is no need for that." 

"I know," Dean says apologetically.  "But the people we will be dealing with don't know that.  This is just for show.  It doesn't actually bind you." 

An actual binding collar is only visible to people with inborn magical ability, or Sight.  The runes of the spell look different depending on the style of the Warlock that casts them, but usually appear as glowing marks on the demon's skin around its neck.  The collar Dean holds in his hand is just simple brown leather, lined with soft suede on the inside to prevent chafing (because he's not a dick to the demons that serve him), and with meaningless runes embossed into it.   

Cas can pass for human until someone gets a look at his eyes, but many demons are obviously alien, sometimes misshapen and terrifying.  The physical collar is used as a symbol for non-magic users.  It's something tangible that they can see and trust.   

"I swear, Cas," Dean says when Cas doesn't come any closer.  "I know I don't need to bind you.  Trust me."  He waits for more resistance, and lines up several more arguments just in case, but he ends up not needing them. 

After a long moment Cas acquiesces, wordlessly lifting his chin to offer his throat. 

Dean's dick throbs and his skin starts to prickle.  Seeing Cas make himself vulnerable like that makes Dean want to drag the demon into the Impala's back seat and see if they can break its suspension.   

Ignoring the impulse because it's already getting late and he doesn't want to delay meeting with the sheriff until morning, he lifts the collar, settling it around the back of Cas' neck so he can fasten it from the front.  His fingers tremble, fumbling with the steel buckle, and he wishes he'd made Cas turn around because he can feel those unearthly blue eyes boring into him, seeking entrance to his soul. 

It takes too long to fasten the simple buckle and Dean wants to jerk his hands away from the soft velvet skin brushing against his knuckles.  But he pauses to slide his fingers under the collar, checking to make sure it isn't too tight, and that there aren't any rough patches in the leather that will chafe Cas while he's got it on.  His eyes flick up to gauge Cas' comfort, and he freezes. 

Cas' eyes are pitch black, glittering dangerously in the sunlight.  His jaw hangs loose, revealing the venom glistening on the sharp tips of his teeth and the inner curve of his lips.  He's huffing in shallow breathes, scenting the air. 

Almost, Dean leans in to run his tongue over Cas' bottom lip for a taste of honey and cloves.  He catches himself, shaking his head and straightening his shoulders.  It takes a supreme effort of will to drag his fingers away from Cas' warm skin, but he does it, shoving his hands deep in his pockets to keep them from reaching out again.   

He clears his throat nervously, and forces a grin.  "Got a bondage fetish, Cas?" 

Cas heaves in a deep breath and closes his eyes. His chest rises and falls three times, and then he opens his eyes to look at Dean.  His eyes are back to normal, the pupils maybe a little wider than usual, but no longer hiding the bright blue of his irises.  His lips quirk up on one side.  "It appears that I might."  His voice is a gruff octave lower than usual.  "Maybe we should explore that when we are finished with this hunt." 

The idea of tying Cas down is so appealing that a whimper actually claws its way up from Dean's dry throat.  He coughs to hide it, and turns abruptly on a heel to make his way across the parking lot.  He keeps his mouth shut, because he's afraid he'll say fuck it let's go, since no one's dying right now, and the case can wait. 

 _But,_ a little voice in the back of his mind whispers, _if you finish this job and collect your pay, you can take Cas home and do unspeakable things to him without time constraints or uncomfortable motel mattresses to distract you._  

That little voice is a certified genius. 

Inside the sheriff's station, Cas garners a combination of curious looks, some of which turn calculating when Cas’ pheromones reach people, but no one comments on his presence.  A chirpy deputy doesn't know how close she is to losing a finger when she makes the mistake of touching Dean's arm to guide him to the sheriff's office.  She's too busy talking a mile a minute to notice the low growl or the warning glare Dean slants in Cas' direction. 

"Woo boy, I'll tell you, I am so glad you're here," the deputy says as she leads them past the bull pit to a wall of offices near the back of the station.  "All that screeching is playing havoc with my beauty sleep.  I am on my third pot of coffee today, and I still feel like I could snooze off at my desk!" 

Dean seriously doubts that.  She's practically vibrating out of her shoes.  "Yeah well hopefully I'll get this taken care of soon, and you can get some rest," he says as they stop in front of a door that says Sheriff McKinney on a brass plaque. 

"That would be fantastic," she gushes.  She knocks on the door and pokes her head inside.   

"Hey sir, sorry to disturb you, but the Warlock is here." 

"Thank you, May.  Send him in." 

May straightens and pushes the door open wide for Dean and Cas to pass through.  Her smile is as cheerful as her name, although it flickers slightly when her eyes pass over Cas.  Apparently she does understand what he is, and Dean’s impressed with how well she hid it until now. 

The Sheriff stands up, and comes around his desk, holding out a hand.  “Sheriff Edward McKinney.  It’s nice to meet you, Master Warlock.”  He freezes when a low growl fills the office. 

Dean rolls his eyes, and elbows Cas in the side.  The growl cuts off immediately, but Cas is clearly not happy when Dean reaches out and takes the Sheriff’s hand in a firm shake.  “Hello, Sheriff.  I’m-” he almost uses his first name, but decides to avoid confusion if Cas calls him something different, “Michael Winchester.  This is my companion, Cas.” 

McKinney eyes Cas warily, nodding in silent greeting, but doesn’t offer to shake his hand.  “Demon, huh?  He’s not a biter is he?” 

 _If only you knew,_ Dean thinks with a smirk.  He does his best to school his expression into something neutral.  “He’s safe.  He’s just protective of me,” he assures the Sheriff.   

Cas sniffs, lifting his chin to a disdainful level, and shuffles closer to Dean’s side.  Their shoulders brush, and Dean does his best to not lean into the contact.   

“Good to know.”  McKinney doesn’t look like he completely believes Dean’s statements, but he’s a professional, and he gets down to business now that the introductions are over.  “So you’re here for our bashee issue, right?” 

“Yes, sir.”  Dean sits in the chair in front of the desk when McKinney gestures toward it, and Cas takes a seat next to him.  “What can you tell me about what’s going on?” 

The Sheriff pulls out a folder, and passes it across the desk.  Dean takes it, and flips it open.  There’s not a lot of information, but he scans it as the Sheriff gives him a verbal report.  “Not much is going on except the screeching at all hours of the night.  No one is getting a good night’s sleep, and the hospital staff is all on pins and needles waiting for some kind of plague to wipe out the town.” 

“She only screams at night?” Banshees are not nocturnal creatures, although during the day it’s sometimes harder to hear them in bustling cities.  This town is small enough that she should be audible at any time. 

“Yeah, mostly, although when the problem first started, she was screaming bloody murder for a few days straight.”  McKinney rubbed a hand over his face, and Dean can see how tired he is.  Dark bruises underlined his dark brown eyes, which are also bloodshot and dry looking.  When he sits back in his chair, he looks like a strong wind would blow him over and he’d be grateful for it if it will allow him to take a nap. 

“And no deaths at all since then?” 

McKinney shakes his head.  “Not a heart attack, not a car accident, not a single dumb kid getting in over their head with a dare.  Nothing.” 

"Well that's... good I guess."  Dean shifts in the uncomfortable chair.  This case sounded easy when he talked to Henry about it, but no one is dying, and he's half afraid that as soon as he figures out what's going on that people might start dropping dead left and right. 

His stomach twists, and he has to swallow back the bile burning in his throat.  He hunts to save lives, not to end them.   

A warm hand covers his, and Dean looks up to find Cas looking at him with open concern.  "What's wrong, Michael?" 

Dean huffs out a breath and forces a smile.  "Nothing, Cas." 

Cas doesn't believe him, if the tiny crease between his brows says anything.  But he doesn't push the issue, much to Dean's relief.  He releases Dean's hand and sits back in his seat, but doesn't avert his gaze. 

Dean clears his throat and turns back to the sheriff, tamping down his disappointment over the loss of Cas' touch.  "Well there's only one way to figure out what's going on," he says briskly to the sheriff.  "Think you could give us directions to the closest cemetery?” 

The sheriff starts digging out paper and something to write with, and Dean starts planning how he’s going to talk Cas into wearing actual shoes instead of flip flops.  In his experience, cemeteries are really fuckin’ cold at night, and he’s got a feeling that they’re going to be out there for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy sex, weee! And I got to use some of the stuff I'd originally written for chapter 10 and had to discard! Happy writer is happy! :D


	12. Chapter 12

Cemeteries are always far more peaceful at night than stories make them out to be, but the unnatural cold around the gravestones that is always described with morbid glee by authors or animated by fogged breath in thriller movies is definitely real.  As another wave of goosebumps chase each other down his spine and across his arms, Dean finds himself missing Sam.  With his affinity for flames, he also had the ability to warm the air in a small area. 

He hopes that after Sam finishes school he'll be up for more hunting.  And not just because his magic works better at keeping the chill of too many ghosts at bay better than a parka, but also because Dean misses his snarky comments on Dean's casting style, or his fascinated questions about the summoning process. 

Not that having Cas there in the cemetery isn't awesome.  The demon seems to have a basic understanding of the magic Dean uses, and he is quick to help, plucking vials and boxes of ingredients from Dean's summoning kit as Dean asks for them.  He stays out of Dean's way unless he thinks he can be helpful, and keeps quiet so Dean can concentrate on mixing the herbs and powders together in a pink quartz bowl he has balanced on top of a an altar near the center of the cemetery. 

It's like having an actual partner instead of an obnoxious tag-a-long.  And way better than being with his dad who is all about snapping orders and expecting them to be followed out before he's done speaking. 

Dean grunts in annoyance when he shivers from the cold.  He's not sure if the chill in the air is seasonably normal, or if there are unseen ghosts hanging out to watch the show, but he glares around anyway.  The silent warning to back off doesn’t seem to help the temperature, so either the weather is to blame or the spirits aren't heeding his message.  Either way, it's fucking cold and he hopes he can get this banshee shit cleared up quickly.  He's got an appointment with a motel mattress and a warm body, he'd like to get to asap. 

At least he hopes Cas will be warm.  Dean wasn't able to convince him to wear decent shoes, and the flannel shirt he agreed to throw on over his t-shirt doesn't provide much protection from the cold.  The temperature doesn't seem to be bothering him, but Dean keeps an eye on him anyway. 

Dean turns his attention back to the quartz bowl.  Nearly done.  He doesn’t bother with a containment circle since banshees aren't dangerous, so all he needs is one last ingredient for the spell; a little fire, courtesy of the box of matches in his pocket, and a few words in ancient Gaelic. 

He pulls a utility knife from a sheath at his belt and presses the blade against his palm.  Before he can apply enough pressure to break the skin his wrist is captured in Cas' tight grip. 

"Michael, what are you doing?" 

Dean tugs uselessly, but Cas' fingers are as strong as a steel cuff.  "I just need a few drops of blood, Cas." 

"Use mine," Cas demands, holding out his other hand in offering. 

"It's gotta be human," Dean explains impatiently.  He's not sure why Cas is freaking out about a little cut when he's bitten through Dean's skin not just once, but three times. 

Cas doesn't look happy, but he slowly releases Dean, his fingers lingering over Dean's pulse before dropping away.  His eyes glow brightly and he fidgets like he's making an effort to keep himself from grabbing the knife again when Dean puts it back to his palm and opens a small gash.  Normally Dean would just prick his thumb, but summoning a banshee requires the cut to follow the path of his life line. 

Holding his fist above the bowl and letting blood dribble into the powders within it, Dean chants the spell. 

A blood curdling scream splits the quiet evening air, and Dean presses his palms against his ears, disregarding the smear of blood from his palm.  He'd forgotten how loud banshees could be up close.  He hasn't dealt with them often since they're mostly harmless.  

 _Mostly_.  This one is trying to burst his eardrums, and his quartz bowl is vibrating dangerously.  If she doesn't shut the fuck up, she's going to shatter it.

He opens his mouth to cast a spell to turn her volume down, but her scream cuts off abruptly.  In the sudden silence, Dean's ears still ring, but they no longer ache with strain.  He looks up, and his eyes go wide.

The banshee is a pale woman with ashen hair and icy violet eyes.  Her dress is the almost white of bleached bone, only a shade darker than her skin.  He knows from experience that her lips would be a rich plum color, but he can't see her mouth since Cas has hidden it under his palm.  The incubus is glaring daggers at the banshee, and she stares back with wide eyes, and… a little bit of fear?  

"Not so loud." Cas' voice is calm and even, but there is an edge of warning in his tone that sends a shiver down Dean's spine.  "If you injure my human, you will regret it."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up and he's not sure who is more surprised by Cas' word, him or the banshee.  She shoots Dean a speculative look, but quickly turns her attention back to the incubus.  She nods.

Cas lifts his hand slowly as if he expects her to start up with the screeching again, but she presses her lips together and looks back and forth between them warily.  

When it looks like she's not going to speak at all, Dean decides to go first.  "We've got a few questions for you.  Can you keep it at a reasonable volume?"

She nods again.  Her attention is mostly on Cas, and she still looks like she's afraid he's going to shred into her.  

Huh.  Dean isn't sure why a banshee would be afraid of a sex demon, and he makes a mental note to look into it.  Later, when he's not working on a case.

He decides to cut right to the chase.  "Is there a plague coming?  Something souring the water supply? Earthquake?"

The banshee shakes her head.  

"So what's going on?  Why all the screaming when no one is dying?"

Her expression crumbles into a mask of rage.  "Ask the reaper," she whispers harshly.  "If you can find him."

Dean frowns.  "What the hell does that mean?"

She shrugs and holds her hands out, palms up.  Her voice, while still at a reasonable level is shrill.  "That bastard has disappeared." She bares her teeth in a snarl.  "And good riddance, too." 

"What?  Why?" 

" _Ask him!"_ The words are a loud screech, making Dean wince. 

She disappears with an audible _poof_ of displaced air. 

"Wait- fuck!"  Dean grinds his molars and rolls his eyes toward the stars that are just starting to twinkle in the darkening sky.  He should have done a containment circle. 

"You should have made a containment circle," Cas says dryly, echoing Dean's thoughts. 

"Not helpful," Dean mutters with a quick glare at his companion. 

Cas doesn't notice.  He stares at the space the banshee had occupied, his brow pulled together in a thoughtful frown.  "She seemed very angry." 

Dean snorts.  Obviously.  "What clued you in?"  When Cas opens his mouth to answer, Dean cuts his hand through the air in a staying gesture.  "I know she was pissed, Cas.  And I probably made it worse by summoning her away from her bitch-fest.  The question is why." 

"It could be anything," Cas replies.  "Banshees are very emotional creatures.  If she is not mourning a death, she is probably having a tantrum." 

"You think she's PMSing?" Dean jokes as he turns back to his summoning kit to gather new materials. 

"I don't understand." 

Dean chuckles over Cas' baffled tone, but doesn't bother to explain.  "I guess we better follow her advice," he says instead.  "Time to summon a reaper." 

This time he's going to create a circle.  Unlike banshees, reapers are hella dangerous, and Dean isn't going to take any unnecessary risks.  Luckily the community altar installed in this cemetery is on top of a cement slab large enough for him to draw one out in chalk without having to go back to the parking lot in order to find a flat surface.  

It takes only a few minutes to create a circle large enough for his needs, and when he straightens up he finds Cas eyeing it like he's searching for errors. 

"So you do know how to make a proper containment circle," Cas murmurs, nodding his approval. 

Dean scoffs.  "Of course I do.  I'm a fucking pro at this." 

The blue glow of Cas' eyes increases when he tilts them up at Dean, and his lips twist into a wry smile.  "That has not been my experience." 

For a moment Dean sputters in professional indignation.  Then he remembers the night they met, and his horror when Cas stepped over the edge of the circle.  "Hey, fuck you.  I was drunk." 

Cas' smile widens, and Dean realizes he's being teased.  With a scowl, he turns away from the demon.  "Whatever, it's not gonna happen again." 

There is a sudden warmth against his back as Cas presses close and wraps his arms around Dean's middle.  "I am grateful for your error," Cas murmurs against his shoulder right over the first place he bit Dean.   

This time when Dean shivers it isn't from the growing chill in the air.  Desire tingles across his skin, and all the bite marks throb dully as if eager to be refreshed.  

Cas' lips trace the skin over Dean's collar, warm and soft.  His breath heats the area when he speaks.  "But I feel better knowing you do not intend to endanger yourself in such a way again." 

Fuck, Cas is right.  Casting that summoning while under the influence was so dangerous.  He's lucky that he only ended up with a sex demon instead of something that wanted to eat him.   

He palms Cas' hands with his own where they rest on his belly.  Yeah, really goddamn lucky. 

And not just because the mistake gave him the opportunity to learn how awesome cock is.   

He shies away from that thought, clearing his throat and pulling out of the embrace.  "Yeah, Cas.  I learned my lesson.  And this bastard isn't getting loose." 

The next spell requires nothing but a working knowledge of dead languages and more blood, so Dean puts his blade back to his palm, opening the existing cut a little further.  He learned a long time ago not to flinch or hiss at the pain, because his dad would give him shit for it, but he does frown in irritation.  Cutting his palm sucks.  No jerking off with that hand for a while. 

Good thing Cas’ll help him out with that. 

He tries not to roll his eyes at himself and holds his fist out in front of him, letting the blood pool in his palm before letting it drip slowly between his fingers, then starts to chant.  The first drop of blood starts to smoke as soon as it plops down on the cement.  The second drop makes a hissing sound like water dropped in a hot frying pan.  The third drop catches flame.   

Dean speaks the last part of the summoning spell as the fire follows an invisible line, burning a complicated symbol into the cement, then fizzling out.

The candles on the altar flicker once, twice, and then there is a very irritated Reaper standing in the center of the summoning circle.  Its whole form is draped in a black robe, its face hidden in the shadow of the cowl, so the only reason Dean knows it's irritated is by the long suffering sigh that emanates from the darkness where's a face should be.

"A summoning, wonderful," it says with a voice that sounds like the harsh grinding of bones, but still somehow comes across as petulant.  "Can we make this quick?  I've got work to do."

Great, a snotty reaper.  This should be fun.  "Work, huh?  Seems to me like you haven't really been doing your job around here lately."

The reaper's head turns slowly in Dean's direction, and he catches the white flash of bone when it speaks.  "And how would you know, Warlock?  Are you suddenly Death's messenger boy?  Do you have a list of names and dates to deliver?"

Dean rolls his eyes.  "It's pretty obvious, since the local banshee has been screeching her head off, and no one has been dying."

There's a rough sound that might be a laugh.  "There haven't been any scheduled deaths in this town."

"Then why is she screaming?"

"I have no idea.  Why don't you ask her?"

Cas has been a shadow near the altar, so quiet and still that even Dean has forgotten his presence.  Now he moves, stepping up to the edge of the summoning circle.  “We’re asking you.”

The reaper nearly jumps out of his robes when he becomes aware of Cas’ presence and Dean bites the inside of his lips to keep from laughing.  Reapers are rarely taken by surprise, and the fact that Cas managed to do so is kind of hilarious.

“I don’t know what her problem is,” the reaper snaps.  With its face completely hidden, it’s difficult to read its emotions, but its shoulders seem tense under its robe.  It doesn’t exactly take a step back, but it almost seems to lean away from Cas.  

Cas stares hard at the reaper, his glowing eyes bright now that full dark has fallen.  He doesn’t look like he believes the reaper and is trying to dig the answers he wants right out of its brain.  After a moment, Cas turns to Dean and nods solemnly.  “We should summon the banshee again.”

“Does that mean I can go now?” The reaper whines.  

Dean rolls his eyes again at its tone.  “No, you stay put.  I’ll let you go when I know I don’t need you for anything.”

“Are you going to summon her _here_?” The reaper’s voice is a higher pitch, almost sounding human instead of all gloomy and deathy.  

Dean pauses and looks over his shoulder at the reaper.  He’d swear it almost sounds scared.  “Yes.”

“Do you really need me for that?”

Dean’s eyes narrow.  He glances at Cas, wondering if he also notices the change in the reaper’s attitude.  Cas is watching the reaper suspiciously.  Huh, okay, so something fishy must be going on.  “Yes,” he says.

“I’d really rather not be around her, thank you.”

“Tough shit,” Dean responds as he starts measuring out the ingredients he needs for a second summoning into the quartz bowl again.  And because he doesn’t want her flitting off to wherever-land again, he asks “Cas, do you think you could draw a second containment circle?”

The temperature drops, and Dean’s exhale is a tiny white cloud.  “Human, you _will_ release me.”

Cas’ familiar growl cuts through the reaper’s voice.  “You will not speak to him that way.”

Dean looks over his shoulder, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the reaper and the incubus.  They’re locked in a pretty epic staring match, and Cas seems to be winning.  After a moment, the reaper huffs and crosses its arms, its cowled head turning away, conceding to whatever silent disagreement they’d been having.

That’s… interesting.  Dean didn’t think reapers were intimidated by much of anything.  Most sane creatures are afraid of reapers.  They have the ability to bring death with a single touch, even though they _say_ they only kill those who are on their mysterious Death List, but since no one besides reapers has ever seen the list there is some debate on whether it exists or not.  

But this reaper seems intimidated by Cas.  And that is all kinds of hot.

Dean shakes his head at himself when his skin starts to tingle with arousal.  He doesn’t have time for whatever bullshit is going on between Cas and the reaper.  He has a banshee to summon.

The sooner he can figure this crap out, the sooner he can drag Cas back to their motel to do something about the brewing situation in his pants.  

Once Cas is satisfied that the reaper is going to cooperate, he begins the containment circle while Dean goes back to mixing up spell ingredients again.  Within a few minutes the air is once again filled with ear bursting screams.

Doing his best to block out the sound with his hands again Dean turns to find the banshee trapped in her circle.  But she's not screeching at him to let her go.

No, she's laying into the reaper.

" _YOU WORTHLESS, CHEATING, DIRTBAG!!"_

The reaper cringes and hold up its hands, the sleeves of its robe falling down to reveal skeletal hands wrapped in skin so thin and powdery that it looks like it'll start to flake away if the fingers flex too hard.  "Sweetheart I can explain-"

Sweetheart?  Oh shit.

" _OH WILL YOU??  YOU'RE NOT GOING TO RUN OFF AGAIN?"_

Not likely while standing in that containment circle, and it's obvious the reaper knows it even if the banshee hasn't figured it out yet.  Its shoulders are hunched in like every screech is a physical blow.

"Baby, I was just giving you a little time to cool off-"

The banshee sucks in an offended breath.   _"I AM ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CALM, YOU ASSHOLE.  AND IF YOU TELL ME ONE MORE TIME THAT I HAVE A TEMPER I'M GOING TO-"_

The pitch of her voice goes up making her words unintelligible.  Dean would laugh if he didn't feel like knives were being shoved into his ears every time the banshee opens her mouth.  Fuck, he can't believe this whole thing is just a stupid lover's spat.

He sees Cas step toward the banshee again.  "Cas no!" He calls, hoping he can be heard over the banshee scream.  "You'll get stuck!"

Cas stops at the very edge of the chalk circle.  If he reaches inside to touch her, he'll get pulled into the trap.  His hand lifts, and Dean quickly spits out a cantrip that snaps the banshee's lips shut before Cas can touch the edge of the containment circle.

The sound is instantly muffled, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.  He sees the reaper do the same and almost feels sorry for it.  

Dean drops his hands, and reaches into his robes to pull out a rag to wipe the blood off his ear.  "So does she have a good reason to be pissed at you?" He asks the reaper.  His ears are still ringing slightly, making his voice sounds weird in his own head.

"Of course not!"

The banshee goes wild inside her circle, and if her mouth weren't being held shut by magic they would all be feeling the sharp edge of her tongue.  "Somehow I doubt that," Dean responds with a smirk.  

"It isn't any of your business," the reaper grinds out angrily.

"Yeah, I get that."  Satisfied that he got most of the blood off his face, Dean wraps the rag around his hand, squeezing his it in his fist so the cloth will put pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding.  "But whatever is going on is disturbing the local human population, and that makes it my business.  So we can do this one of two ways-"

He had intended to do an Easy Way or Hard Way speech, but Cas cuts in, pinning the reaper with an acid glare.  "You are her mate and you betrayed her."

The reaper shrinks back from the hissing fury in Cas' voice, and even Dean feels a lick of fear go up his spine.  The reaper's voice actually wavers when it speaks.  "I don't know what-"

Cas snaps his teeth in threat, and the reaper shuts the fuck up.  "No more lies.  You have done enough of that."

Dean blinks at Cas in surprise.  The demon is _pissed._ His eyes are fully black, glittering with dangerous intent in the light from the altar candles.

The reaper backs itself up against the very edge of the containment circle.  "I know, I know!  I was wrong!" It turns its hooded face to the banshee, and its voice lowers to something more intimate.  "I was so wrong.  I shouldn't have done that to you and I feel like grave dirt for it.  I want to make it up to you, but I really was waiting for you to calm down a little bit."

Dean rolls his eyes.  Yeah like that's going to happen when she thinks she's been abandoned.  But he keeps that thought to himself.  When the banshee tries to talk, Dean rushes to dispel the magic holding her lips together.  If he interrupts the flow of conversation now, they may go back to fighting.

He is so focused on the drama unfolding in front of him that he misses the way Cas shivers, and the odd look he directs at Dean.

The banshee gets as close as she can to the edge of the containment circle.  She still looks angry, but she speaks in a hoarse whisper instead of an ear splitting shriek.  "Why did you do it?"

Oh this should be good.  Dean kinda wishes he has a comfortable seat and a bowl of popcorn.  

"Michael," Cas says before the reaper can respond to her question.  "Break the circles."

Dean straightens.  "What?  But-"

"They need privacy.  And I believe the issue that brought us here will be resolved if they get it."  He says the last with a meaningful look at the creatures held within the circles.

Dean sighs.  "Fine."  He waves a warning finger between the banshee and the reaper.  "But keep it down.  Folks are trying to sleep."

Purple stains the banshee's deathly pale cheeks when she blushes, but she nods her agreement.  The reaper's hood turns in Dean's direction and even though he can't see anything but darkness where a face should be, he knows a seriously pissed off glare is coming his way.  He expects a threat of some kind, but all he gets is silence.

The reaper could be plotting his death for all he knows, but Dean is strangely unafraid.  Maybe it’s because Cas is hovering between him and the reaper and eyeing it like he’ll rip its throat out with his bare teeth if it so much as twitches in Dean’s direction.

Well, actually.  There’s no maybe about that.  

He half expects Cas to start growling when the reaper doesn’t look away.

Dean holds his hands out, palms up.  “I thank you both for the gift of your time,” he says formally.   _Ha!  ‘Gift’... right,_ he thinks as he steps forward and scrapes the toe of his shoe over the cement, first breaking the banshee’s circle, then the reaper’s.  “Go in peace.”

“Quietly,” Cas adds dryly.

It’s difficult to keep a straight face, but Dean’s pretty sure he manages.

The banshee hovers uncertainly, like she wants to throw herself at the reaper, and also wants to ghost away, and can’t decide which.  Before Dean can find out what she chooses, Cas takes him by the arm and turns him away, guiding him to the altar.

“You’re no fun, Cas,” Dean murmurs in between blowing out candles.  

Cas carefully wipes out the inside of the quartz bowl with a soft towel Dean brought just for that purpose, before packing it in Dean’s summoning kit.  “Would you wish for an audience if you were in their situation?” he counters.

Dean grimaces.  “Yeah, no.”

His answer earns him a proud smile, which makes Dean’s heart do a weird little flutter.  

It takes a few minutes to pack the satchel that holds Dean’s most commonly used tools and spell ingredients, and by the time they’re finished the banshee and the reaper have disappeared.  He really hopes they work out whatever their issues are, and not just because he doesn’t want to come back later and deal with them if the screeching starts back up.

As they walk away from the cemetery’s altar, all Dean can hear is the swish swish swish of his feet and robes dragging through the grass and the whistle of wind passing around and through the nearby mausoleums.  Cas is practically a shadow next to him, making no noise at all.  But Dean is hyper aware of him and the heat of his body even though there is nearly a foot of space between them.

He likes how it feels to have Cas there.  The hunt was nowhere near as dangerous as many others he has been on, but having the demon with him makes him feel safe.  Safer even than when he’s been with his dad or his brother, two men he would absolutely trust his life to.

It probably has something to do with the fact that Cas made a _reaper_ act nervous.  

When they get to the car, his curiosity over that prompts him to break the comfortable silence.  “Hey, Cas?  Why did that reaper look like it was going to shit its skirts when you got in its face?”

The lamps illuminating the parking lot dim the glow of Cas’ eyes, but Dean still notices when they brighten just before Cas looks away.  “Did it?”

Dean narrows his eyes.  Oh no, that’s not evasive as fuck.  Like, at all.  “Cas.  Talk to me.”

Cas shifts from foot to foot, and his shoulders twitch as if he’s trying to ignore an itch he knows he can’t scratch.  “My kind… have a reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?” Dean prompts when Cas says no more.

Cas presses his lips together, and for a moment Dean doesn’t think he’s going to answer.  But he does.  Grudgingly.  “Incubi can become very violent when their mates are threatened.”

“Okay.” Dean drags the word out, not sure what to make of that.  

Unless… “Cas, did they think I am your mate?”  The demon’s shoulders tense, and Dean realizes he’s hit the nail on the head.  Dean scoffs, and shuts the trunk lid.  “Wow, okay.  I wonder what the hell made them think that.”

Cas doesn’t immediately move away from the back of the car, but when he sees Dean open the driver’s side door, he hurries to catch up and slides into the passenger seat.  He still doesn’t look at Dean, and he doesn’t say anything in response to Dean’s words.  

Suspicion stops Dean from starting the engine.  He watches Cas fidget, twisting the soft denim fabric at his knees between his fingers, and shifting as if he’s sitting on a broken spring and he’s trying to find a position where it isn’t poking him in a place far more uncomfortable than the back of a Volkswagon.  “Cas… what made them think that?”

Finally Cas looks at him.  His pupils are narrowed into a thin line and the glow of his eyes lights up the interior of the car.  “They can scent me on you.”

Tension Dean hadn’t been aware of drains out of his shoulders, and he slumps back against the seat with a laugh.  “Well that makes sense.  I practically bathe in _Eau de Cas._ ”  Then he wrinkles his nose.  "Ew, wait.  That makes it sound like I bathe in your cum or something."

Cas also relaxes, and his smile is wicked.  "What a lovely idea."

Dean points a stern finger at Cas.  "No."

"But-"

"No," Dean repeats firmly.

Cas actually pouts.  

Dean doesn't even try to hold back the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.  "Cas, even with your microscopic refractory time, it would take forever to fill a tub big enough for me."

Cas' pout morphs back into a wicked smile.  He leans across the space between them, practically crawling over the seat until their faces are only centimeters apart.  "Well how about a shower instead of a bath?"

His breath is warm and sweet and Dean inhales deeply until the honey and cloves fill him completely.  He closes his eyes and gets a very vivid mental image of himself kneeling at Cas' feet while the demon jacks off and comes all over his face.  His tongue flicks out to wet his tingling lips and brushes Cas' bottom lip.  He tries to catch Cas' mouth in a kiss, but the demon stays just out of reach.

Fingers ghost over Dean’s cheek.  "As much as I love your freckles, I would love even more to cover them with my seed."

Dean's heart starts to pound at the words.  The touch slides feather light down his jaw and throat, pausing at his fluttering pulse.

“I want to see it dripping from your jaw.” Cas is close enough now that his lips brush Dean’s with every word.  “I want to lick my cum from your nipples after they’re hard and pink from my attention.”  He tweaks one through Dean’s robe and shirt, making it perk up.  Then his hand continues down over his chest and stomach and settles over the bulge between Dean’s legs.  “I want to drench your cock in my cum, and then suck you clean.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Cas.”

Cas massages Dean’s dick, purring low in his throat when it thickens even more under his palm.  “And then I want to fuck you and fill you until you’re so full that I can watch it leaking out of you.”

God. Damn.

Dean is panting with want, and every breath is given to him by the lips hovering so close to his own.  “Cas…”

“Start the car, Michael,” Cas says so softly that Dean feels the words more than he hears them.  “Drive us to a motel.  Now, or I am going to take you in the back seat, and when I’m finished with you the leather will probably need to be replaced.”

The keys in his hands rattle as Dean’s trembling fingers struggle to shove them into the ignition.  He curses when he misses for the third time, but finally the key slides home and he twists until the engine roars to life.  

Sitting back in his seat, Cas’ expression is one hundred percent cat-that-got-the-cream.

Whatever, Dean doesn’t even fucking care.  There is a motel in this town with their name on it, and a cleaning crew that is going to get a huge tip because Dean knows what kind of mess they’re going to have to clean up after checkout.

Baby’s tires squeal as he peels out of the cemetery parking lot. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink warning: Snowballing

Dean learns several valuable lessons between the cemetery parking lot and the closest motel bed. 

One:  Driving with an Incubus glued to his side while whispering all kinds of filthy things in his ear _is_ possible to do, if done carefully. 

Two:  He doesn't give a fuck what smirking motel clerks think about his sex life.  His sex life is phenomenal, thank you very much. 

Three:  Sam Winchester is a goddamn cock block. 

He learns that third lesson as he and Cas are stumbling through the door to their room, mouths connected in a slick mess of tongues and teeth and lips, hands already fumbling at their clothing in an uncoordinated attempt at removal.  He's just managed to get Cas' fly opened and his hand shoved between the open flaps and wrapped around Cas' dick-  

And his mother fucking phone rings. 

Instincts duel inside of him; his ingrained reaction to always respond to his little brother's ringtone versus his newer need to melt into Cas until he can't tell where he ends and the demon begins.  It's a close fight, but his protective instincts win out because Sam usually texts him and only calls when it's extremely important. 

He pulls away from Cas, just barely keeping his head and ignoring the demon's groaned protest.  By the time he's fumbled the phone out of his pocket, the call has gone to voicemail and started ringing again. 

The hang up and call back routine sends Dean's heart racing with adrenaline, overriding the venom induced lust.  He swipes the screen to answer and jams the phone to his ear.  "Sammy?  What's wrong?" 

There's a pause which does nothing to alleviate Dean's worry, but Sammy sounds calm, if surprised, when he speaks.  "Nothing's wrong, Dean.  I'm calling to see how the hunt is going." 

All the air goes out of Dean's lungs in a soft woosh.  He drops his head down on Cas' shoulder, barely aware of his free hand kneading the demon's nape and pulling him closer.  "Dude, you could have just sent me a text.  I thought it was an emergency." 

Sam chuckles at Dean's obvious overreaction.  "Check your phone asshat.  I've been texting you for hours, and when you didn't respond after a while I called." 

Dean frowns and holds the phone away so he can check his message indicator.  He doesn't read them all, but there's seven new messages.  He puts the phone back to his ear.  "Huh, sorry.  Guess I didn't notice 'em." 

"Wow, this case must be tough if you’re working that hard." 

Dean barely hears him because Cas has apparently decided that if there isn't an emergency, he's going to continue what he was doing before Dean forced a break in their activities.  He finds Dean's pulse and suckles softly while his deft fingers finish hiking up Dean's work robes and making short work of the fastening of his slacks. 

"Actually, it went great."  His voice cracks on the last word because Cas has got a hand on his dick and is pressing his thumb against the slit, spreading the bead of precum around.  Dean coughs to cover it.  "Really great actually. Already done with it in fact." 

"Really?  That was quick." 

Cas starts up a slow stroke, and swallowing the whimper, Dean does his best to keep his voice even when he responds.  "Yeah, turns out it was just relationship woes." 

Sam snorts a surprised laugh.  "Wait, what?  You gotta tell me more than that." 

"The banshee was pissed at her reaper boyfriend-" he stops on a gasp when Cas bites him, even though it isn't hard enough to break skin. 

"Mate," Cas murmurs before kissing the tender spot with gentle lips.  "They were mated." 

"Dean are you okay?  Was that Cas?"  Sam demands. 

"'m fine," Dean grunts.  "And yeah, Cas is with me.  He said they're mates."  He has no idea why that matters, but Cas seems to care about the terminology, so whatever. 

Apparently Cas is pleased with the correction.  He squeezes, and Dean makes a choked noise as an orgasm boils up inside him.  He's still coming into Cas' palm, but his brother's voice still registers. 

"Are you and Cas-?  Gross, dude!  Why would you-?  Ugh!" 

"Don't abuse the hang-up-and-call-back rules, dumbass," Dean huffs.  Cas nuzzles at his jaw, inching closer to his mouth, and Dean goes lightheaded with the need for another hit of venom.  "Gotta go, Sammy.  Call ya later!" 

"Dean wait-" 

Dean ends the call and tosses the phone in the general direction of his duffle, barely hearing the thump as it lands on the floor.  With both hands free, he grabs Cas' face with both hands and forces their mouths together, plunging his tongue past the demon's lips into the hot, sweet interior.  He moans happily when the flavor of honey and cloves fills him, and even though he just had an orgasm, he gets hard again, his dick firming in the warm circle of Cas' fingers.

He is so engrossed with sipping more and more venom from Cas' lips that he doesn't notice being turned and guided to the bed.  The kiss doesn't stop until Dean falls back on the mattress. 

He mourns the loss, whining wordlessly when Cas doesn't let him pull him back down for more kissing.  But then he realizes that Cas is working diligently at removing his clothing, and hell yeah, Dean wants in on that action.  Cas is already out of his shirt and shimmying out of his pants, so Dean scrambles to catch up.  He struggles with the robe since it's caught under his hips, but he manages to get it off by the time Cas is completely naked.   

Cas tugs Dean's pants and underwear off while Dean whips his undershirt off over his head.  Dean's shoes come off with his pants, but neither of them spare time for his socks. 

Dean scrambles further back on the bed, then holds his hands out, beckoning Cas to join him by flicking his fingers.   

Pausing at the side of the bed, Cas takes his own dick in his hand and strokes it.  His glowing eyes travel over Dean's body like he's starving and can't decide where to sink his teeth in first.   

"Come on, Cas," Dean whines.  "I need you." 

The words make Cas freeze and the glow of his eyes dims as his pupils dilate, swallowing all but a thin ring of blue.  "I know, Michael.  I'll take care of you." 

He crawls into the bed, his body moving with slow and deliberate strength.  Once again Dean is reminded of a large cat, and this time it’s stalking its prey.  He wonders if he should worry that he's _n_ _ot_ worried about getting eaten, but that thought is too complicated and circular so he lets it fade out of his awareness to be replaced by anticipation. 

Cas moves over his body until he's straddling Dean's shoulders, his dick hovering just over Dean's mouth.  Dean opens his lips, expecting Cas to shove in and fuck his face.  But instead Cas undulates his hips so that his dick slides over Dean's lips, the head bumping up and over his nose before retreating.  He does it again, stopping with his balls pressing into Dean's mouth. 

Dean wraps his lips around the tender skin, teasing with his tongue, suckling first one, then the other.  When they slip out of his mouth, Cas flexes his hips again, grinding back and forth over Dean's lips.  Dean sticks his tongue out, letting his saliva slick the way.  Cas doesn't seem to be bothered by Dean's stubble, and just keeps fucking against his face. 

Spit drips down Dean's cheeks and chin, but he didn't even notice.  He grabs Cas' ass encouraging him to keep going.  Muscles flex under his palms, and he kneads them to the rhythm Cas is setting. 

Precum smears across his cheek, making the skin tingle with a faint burn.  He remembers Cas’ promise to cover his face in cum, and he moans. 

“I’m close, Michael,” Cas growls, low and dirty. 

Dean’s mouth is still occupied with Cas’ dick, but he manages a breathy “ _please_ ” through swollen lips.  And then suddenly Cas is pulling away.  Dean tries to surge up and follow Cas’ dick with his mouth, but the thick thighs bracketing his shoulders hold him in place.   

Then he notices what Cas is doing, and he no longer feels the loss.  He watches greedily as Cas jerks his dick, made slippery with Dean’s spit.  It only takes a few strokes and then semen is splashing across Dean’s lips and cheeks.  Instinctively he closes his eyes, even though he desperately wants to watch Cas as he comes, but it’s a good thing he does when he feels cum splatter over his eyelids. 

With his eyes closed, his other senses are heightened.  His skin prickles where it’s covered in semen, and his nose is filled with Cas’ musky sweetness.  He feels every twitch of Cas’ ass and thighs, and his ears almost prick up at the satisfied moan that rumbles up through the demon’s chest.  His whole body feels like it is containing an inferno, and it’s going to burn through the thin shell of his skin at any moment. 

The blunt head of Cas’ dick swipes through the slick wetness on his face, smearing it over his lips and across his cheek.  Dean opens his mouth, turning his head and trying to catch Cas with his mouth, to suck whatever he can straight from the source.  Cas avoids his mouth for a moment until Dean growls and digs his fingers into the demon’s ass, and then he chuckles and finally presses his dick into Dean’s mouth. 

When the semen touches his tongue, another climax punches through Dean and he feels it spray warm and wet across his belly.  His balls ache, probably from that lack of recovery time, but it’s a familiar pain now, and because he associates it with pleasure, he doesn’t go soft despite his release. 

Cas scoots down Dean’s body until they’re face to face again.  His pupils are still dilated widely, and his eyes flick back and forth over Dean’s features.  A smug smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he reaches up to smear his seed around some more with the pad of his thumb. 

His voice is hushed and reverent when he speaks.  “You are so beautiful.” 

A compliment like that would normally irritate the shit out of Dean, but coming from Cas it causes warmth to bloom in his breast.  He probably blushes, but since his skin is already overly warm where Cas’ semen coats it, he can’t tell. 

“So beautiful,” Cas repeats before leaning down to lay a feather-light kiss to the bridge of Dean’s nose.  “And all mine.” 

The words force all the air out of Dean’s lungs, but it’s not fear or shock.  It’s relief.  Right now he needs to hear them just as much as he needs another taste of Cas’ venom.   

“Say it for me, Michael.” 

Dean’s lips part on a gasp.  He wants to say it.  But there’s a tiny niggling voice in the back of his mind warning him that he’s letting Cas get away with too much.  His possessive behavior is sexy as fuck, but dangerous… 

Another soft kiss, this time on the cheek smeared with cum.  “Say it.” 

“I’m…” Dean digs his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself. 

Cas doesn’t push any more.  Instead he silently laps at Dean’s face, cleaning away the mess, just as he’d promised in the car.  When he finishes he kisses Dean, pushing his tongue past tingling lips.  Warm sweet venom drips into Dean’s mouth, and he nearly sobs as he feels it seeping into his bloodstream. 

“You don’t need to say it just yet,” Cas says against his lips.  “But you will.  Soon.” 

He sits up, straddling Dean’s stomach.  His dark eyes are full of promise.  One of his hands smoothes over the skin of Dean’s chest before pausing to pluck gently at a nipple, once, twice, then pinching tightly until a grunt that is half pain, and half pleasure is pulled from Dean’s throat.  Movement draws Dean’s gaze down, and he sees that Cas is jacking off again. 

“I told you I was going to mark you,” Cas says when Dean looks back up at him.   

“Fuck,” Dean grunts out.  “Yes, please.” 

Cas bares his sharp teeth in a pleased smile.  “As you wish.” 

Dean has no idea how it’s possible, but Cas keeps his promise, drenching his whole body in cum over the course of the next few hours.  He stops occasionally to suck up a mouthful and then kisses Dean, letting it drip from his lips into Dean’s waiting mouth.  They pass it back and forth with their tongues, sucking at each other while another orgasm rocks Dean’s body. 

And by the time Cas has kept his promise and filled Dean’s ass until he’s leaking, Dean’s mind is completely disconnected from his mouth which is babbling, repeating everything Cas tells him to say without being aware of the meaning of the words. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean sobs.  “I’m yours.   _Yours._ God, don’t stop, please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t- _”_  

Cas soothes him, combing fingers through his hair and cutting him off with another kiss.  Dean doesn’t feel the tears leaking down the sides of his face until Cas wipes them away with his thumbs.   

“Shhh,” Cas breathes against Dean’s mouth.  “You’re mine.  I’ll never let you go, Michael.  Never.” 

The words, combined with the venom burning thick and strong through his blood make Dean come again.  His whole body freezes up, arching under Cas.  Their skin is tacky with drying semen and saliva where it presses together, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort.  He only feels heat and want and frustration. 

Because _Michael_ is _wrong._  

“No,” he gasps. 

Cas rears up to get a better look at his face, but doesn’t stop fucking slowly and rhythmically into Dean, his semen slicking the way.  “No?  No, what?” 

“Not ‘Michael’,” Dean manages to get out before he’s trying to capture Cas’ lips again.  He needs more.  He needs it _now._  

Cas stays just out of reach.  “What?” 

There are alarms going off in his head, but he doesn’t understand what they’re trying to warn him about.  “ _Dean._ My name is Dean.” 

Cas’ eyes widen with shock, and his pupils explode outward leaving nothing but deep, dark black between his lashes.  “What did you say?” 

But Dean can’t remember.  His eyes zero in on Cas’ mouth.  He can see venom glistening on the demon’s pink and swollen lips, and he licks his own, suddenly feeling like the entire Sahara has relocated into his mouth.  “Please, Cas,” he whimpers. 

He surges up, and this time Cas doesn’t escape him.  Dean moans as his burning thirst is quenched, and uses the last of the strength in his legs to pull Cas’ hips into his again.  He’s rewarded when Cas’ slow thrusts speed up and become rough.   

He doesn’t feel his body give out and go limp as another orgasm ripples through him, and he doesn’t hear the fear in Cas’ voice as he calls his Name over and over again.

 

***

 

 _"Wow, you weren't kidding, he is out for the count."_  

 _He doesn't recognize the voice, but dreams are weird that way, and Dean doesn't question it.  The only thing he's currently concerned with is the fact that he can't feel Cas' warmth.  A shudder runs through him and his skin prickles with goosebumps.  "Cas?"_  

 _"Shhh, I'm here."_  

 _Dean curls into Cas' heat when he becomes aware of the hard body sliding back under the blanket with him.  He buries his nose up under Cas' throat and smiles his contentment.  He ignores the unfamiliar voice when it starts talking again.  It's not important._  

 _"And he's whipped.  Damn, Cassie, you're good."_  

 _Fingers comb gently through Dean's hair.  "It took some time.  He was reluctant at first."_  

 _The unfamiliar voice laughs, low and nasty.  "Just reluctant?"_  

 _Cas stiffens.  "I give him pleasure."_  

 _Dean doesn't like the anger in Cas' voice, or the fact that he's stopped the petting thing.  "Cas?"_  

 _The petting resumes.  "Shh, sleep."_  

 _The command makes everything seem fuzzier, but Dean fights against it.  "Wha's th'matter, Cas?"_  

 _"It's not important.  Sleep."_  

 _Dean doesn't bother to protest that he's already sleeping.  He just shifts until he's got an arm and a leg draped over Cas, and relaxes again._  

 _"I give him pleasure," Cas says again, his words sharp and dangerous as his teeth._  

 _"Oh I don't doubt that."  There's another snicker.  "But that doesn't mean he wanted you to."_  

 _"This is not what I asked you here for."_  

 _"Hit a nerve though, didn't I?  Humans are damn stubborn about Free Will, y'know.  What are you gonna do if he remembers that he's 'reluctant'?"_  

 _"Gabe-"_  

 _"Loki," the stranger interjects._  

 _"Mating a demi-god does not make you one, anymore than mating a human makes me human," Cas snaps._  

 _"Tell that to my worshippers."_  

 _"Do you actually have worshippers anymore?"_  

 _"Touché."_  

 _Cas sighs.  "So can you help me?"_  

 _"I don't know why you're asking me.  I've never mated a human before."_  

 _"But you are mated.  And you have spent centuries among humans.  You must know something of this.  He grows weaker and I can't-"  Cas breaks off with a choked sound._  

 _Dean wants to fix whatever is distressing the demon, but his body refuses to obey his commands to react, to do something.  Anything._  

 _"I know, buddy, I know.  Look, I can't promise anything, but I'll take a look at him, okay?"_  

 _Cas' voice is quiet and hoarse, trembling with emotion.  "Thank you."_  

 _"Anything for you, bro."_  

 _Cas snorts, as if he doesn't believe the cheerful assurance._  

 _There's a few moments of silence, and then Cas growls, low and dangerous.  It reverberates through Dean, and he forces his eyes open.  He can't see anything because his face is still buried in Cas' neck, and he summons every ounce of strength to turn away to find out what the threat is.  A hand cups the back of his head, effortlessly holding him in place._  

 _"I'll need to touch him, Cassie."_  

 _The growl intensifies._  

 _"Seriously?  You asked me for help, moron."_  

 _Cas' growl dies down, although Dean can still feel how stiff he is.  After a long moment, he releases Dean, even going so far as to nudge him onto his back._  

 _Dean's teeth almost immediately start to chatter when he loses Cas' warmth._  

 _There's a sympathetic hiss before the stranger speaks again.  "Damn, Cassie.  He doesn't look good.  Are you feeding him?"_  

 _"Constantly.  Whenever I can."_  

 _Fingers that Dean instinctively knows are not attached to Cas frame Dean's face.  He tries to pull away, but his struggles are nothing compared to the strength of those hands._  

 _Thumbs lift his eyelids, and Dean’s vision is filled with a cloud of gold and copper.  He thinks there might be features, eyes and a nose.  A smirking mouth.  But he can’t focus clearly enough to see._  

 _“Damn, he is rollin’ balls, ain’t he?  Hey there, buddy,” the voice says cheerfully.  “How many fingers am I holding up?”_  

 _Dean frowns.  What fingers?  Whatever this dream is, it’s annoying as fuck.  He tries to pull away from the hands again.  It takes a monumental effort, but he manages to lift an arm and knock the hands away, and they don’t return._  

 _“Feisty!  That’s a good sign.  Look, he’s brightening up already.”_  

 _“His soul is still so weak compared to when I first-.”  Cas cuts off abruptly._  

 _“He’s out of it, Cassie.  I doubt he hears you, and if he does, he won’t remember.”_  

 _“I won’t risk it.”_  

 _There’s several moments of silence, and then the stranger sighs.  “Why did you do it if you don’t plan on letting him in on the secret?”_  

 _“I…” Cas’ voice wavers uncertainly.  “... it wasn’t on purpose.”_  

 _The stranger cackles.  “Oh, that’s rich, Cassie!  Although I can see how that might have happened… he smells delicious.”_  

 _Not only does Cas let out a menacing snarl, but the bed shifts as his body crouches over Dean’s._  

 _“Whoa, turbo!  I don’t plan on even licking my fingers when I’m done here.  Cool your jets.”_  

 _“Can you tell me what to do for him?”_  

 _“Feed him.”_  

 _“Is food your answer for everything?”_  

 _“Duh.  Gluttony demon.  Why do you think I mated myself to a goddess?  I’m living in an eternal All You Can Eat buffet.  But I’m completely serious in this case.  His body and soul both need more nourishment than he’s getting.  He’s wasting away.”_  

_“I’m giving him everything I can.”  The snarl in Cas’ voice is gone, replaced by distress._

_“Give him human food.”_  

 _“I’m doing that as well.”_  

 _Dean can’t stand the thready unhappiness in Cas’ voice.  He channels every ounce of energy he has into lifting his hand.  It nudges against Cas’ chest, and is caught in Cas’ grasp.  Dean does his best to tighten his fingers around Cas’, to give the demon some kind of comfort._  

 _The stranger sighs.  “Then I don’t know what to tell you, Cassie.”_  

 _Cas shifts, and finally lies back down, pulling Dean close._  

Better, _Dean thinks._  

 _“Thank you for trying, Gabe.”_  

 _“You’re welcome.”  There’s a beat of silence, then “You really need to tell him.”_  

 _Something in the air shifts, and Dean knows the other presence is gone._  

 _Cas leans down and runs his tongue over Dean’s lips, while at the same time his hand slides over Dean’s chest and stomach in long, soothing strokes.  Dean opens his mouth, and breathes a happy sigh when Cas takes the invitation to dip his tongue inside.  Honey and cloves burst across his tastebuds, and the chill under his skin fades._  

_Finally, this dream is taking a turn in the right direction._

 

_***_

 

The scent of food pulls Dean out of his dreams of Cas’ hands and mouth getting intimate with some of Dean’s favorite body parts.  His stomach rumbles loudly in response, and he winces.  Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he was so hungry. 

Blinking one eye open, he realizes that he’s probably starving because it’s late afternoon, if the quality of the sunlight seeping through the curtains is any indication.  He’s missed breakfast and lunch.  And probably checkout hour, but since no one has come pounding on the door, he figures he’ll just have to pay a fee for staying later. 

He’s on his stomach, face partially buried in the pillow which is damp - _gross -_ with drool.  He groans, and rolls onto his side, swiping a hand over his cheek.  Then he remembers what Cas did to him the night before, and he realizes a little drool is nothing.  Damn, he’s probably going to need to shower for a week. 

His dick doesn’t seem to agree that there’s anything wrong with letting a demon coat him in jizz.  It perks up at the memory.  Fuckin’ glutton. 

The mattress springs squeal when the edge of the bed dips.  Dean’ turns his head on the pillow to find Cas seated next to him, holding a styrofoam to go box and a plastic fork.   

“Hello,” Cas says with a soft smile.  “How do you feel?” 

Achy and exhausted.  Dean feels like he could go back to sleep for another half a day at least.  But not until he gets some food in him.  “Starved.  Is that for me?”   

Cas nods, and pops the lid of the container open, letting out a little puff of steam.  “I found a diner nearby.  I took some money from your wallet.” 

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Dean leans toward Cas and inhales through his nose.  Eggs and sausage for sure, and something sweet.  When Cas brings the container closer and Dean sees the thick waffle already drenched in syrup, he moans.  “God, Cas, you know how to treat a guy right.” 

“Can you sit up?” 

It seems like a stupid question, and Dean is about to say so when he realizes his arms are shaking just from holding his shoulders up off the bed.  He frowns, and drops back down to his back.  His muscles feel weak and overused, and when he lifts a hand, his fingers are trembling. 

Without prompting, Cas sets the food aside and moves to help Dean sit up. 

“I’m not an invalid!”  Irritation adds an edge to Dean’s words, and he regrets it when he sees Cas flinch.  He does his best to sit himself up, shoving pillows behind his back, but he resists the urge to grumble when Cas tucks them in further, giving him more support.   

“Thanks,” he says quietly, grudgingly. 

Instead of responding, Cas picks up the styrofoam box again.  He offers it to Dean, along with the plastic fork. 

Dean doesn’t take it, and not just because he can still feel a slight tremble in his arms and hands.  Cas’ subdued movements, the downward turn at the edge of his mouth, and the fact that his eyes remain hidden behind lowered lashes send a pang of guilt through his chest.   

He’s always been kind of an asshole when he doesn’t feel good, and right now Dean is not only tired and hungry, but the ache under his skin is not the fun I-just-spent-all-night-fucking kind.  He’s starting to feel like he’s coming down with something.  It seems to have been coming on slowly for the last few days, and hanging out in a damp, cold graveyard at night probably aggravated whatever bug he’s caught.   

It’s not Cas’ fault he’s getting sick - well, maybe it is, since the fucker _did_ sneeze on him a couple times.  But it’s still not fair of Dean to take it out on him. 

So, as much as he knows it’ll drive him nuts, he offers an olive branch by not taking what Cas is offering him.  “I’m, uh… not feeling all that hot, Cas.  Do you think you could help me out?” 

Blue eyes flick up to meet his, the pupils twitching into a tighter oval even as the corner of Cas’ lips twitch up.  “Of course.” 

As Dean accepts the first bite of sausage Cas offers him, he thinks that it’s still weird to be a grown man and let someone feed him, but good-weird.  Especially if it makes Cas keep smiling like that. 

Dean grins as he chews, and Cas’ smile widens in response.  Yeah, that smile right there is exactly why Dean obediently opens his mouth when Cas offers him another chunk of sausage. 


	14. Chapter 14

“Yeah, Sam, it’s all wrapped up.”  Bracing his phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean looks around the room, doing a quick sweep to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind.  “Already checked my bank account, and the fee’s in there.” 

His eyes land on the rumpled sheets, and he feels himself flush.  He left a huge tip on the pillow for whoever has to clean up that mess. 

Sam huffs.  “Crazy that it was that simple.” 

After swinging the door shut behind him, Dean catches his phone in his hand again.  He hisses a curse when the late afternoon sun greets him by stabbing straight through his retinas and into the pain centers of his brain. 

“Dean?  What’s wrong?” 

“Nothin’, Sammy.  Just a headache.”  It’s the understatement of the year.  He feels like he's got the mother of all hangovers giving birth to a litter of baby hangovers inside his head, which is completely fucked up since he hasn't been drunk since the night he summoned Cas almost a week ago.  Whatever he's coming down with doesn't seem to care that he's been sober though.  “I’ll be fine when I get some caffeine and aspirin in my system.” 

Sam accepts the excuse and they talk for a few more minutes about the details of Dean’s return trip before saying goodbye.  Cas has already packed their bags into the Impala’s trunk, and all that’s left is for Dean to check them out at the office. 

It’s not far from their room, so Dean walks.  Cas had been leaning against the car waiting for him, but he falls in next to Dean.  He’s fully dressed for once, in a flannel button down and ratty jeans.  His flip-flops slap against the pavement with each step, and even that small sound sends uncomfortable vibrations through Dean’s temples.   

He rubs the area, hoping to ease the pressure building there but it doesn’t help.   

The woman running the motel office is pretty.  Tall, with long wavy hair draping her shoulders, and a rack that strains against the buttons of her shirt.  She’s exactly the type of woman Dean would flirt with, and maybe even stick around town long enough to spend a few hours of naked time with.  But even though it’s habit to check her out, he doesn’t feel even a hint of interest. 

He blames it on the headache.   

The clerk gives him a strange look as she runs his credit card and has him sign the final paperwork.  She doesn’t say anything though, and accepts the room key back with a smile and a softly spoken thanks.   

During the transaction she barely glances at Cas, but Dean feels the weight of her attention.  He caught a glance of himself in the bathroom mirror before leaving their room, and he thinks he knows what’s bothering her.  He hesitates before leaving the office.  “Uh, miss?  Do you know of a place around here I can pick up some cold medicine?” 

She looks relieved that he asked, which means he must really look bad.  “There’s a Walgreens about a mile from here.”  She gives him directions, and smiles a little brighter when he thanks her and takes his leave. 

Cas walks ahead of him, and is already in the passenger seat when Dean slides in behind the wheel.  His inhuman eyes watch closely as Dean settles himself in for another half day of driving.  He practically oozes the scent of worry along with his sex hormones.  "Michael..." 

"I'm fine," Dean cuts in.  He feels a twinge of _wrong_ when Cas uses his middle name.  Something niggles at the back of his mind, but he’s too tired to poke at whatever memory is trying to surface, so he ignores it. 

Cas has been giving him worried looks since he woke up, and even tried to talk Dean into sleeping more after he ate.  It's obvious from the way he’s been hovering over Dean that he'd much rather tuck Dean back into bed and play nurse than start their trip home. 

Pushing the image of Cas in a naughty nurse outfit as far back in the recesses of his imagination as possible so he can concentrate on driving, Dean jams his keys in the ignition a little too hard, and cranks them.  The usual enjoyment he gets from the initial roar of the engine is hampered by the fact that the sound aggravates his pounding head. 

Man, he feels like sun dried shit.  It's starting to feel like the flu, which sucks ass because it's close enough to summer that flu season should be long over.   

It's probably some kind of demon flu since Cas has sneezed on him several times in the last few days.  That's just the kind of luck he should expect, really.  First he fucks up the summoning - the first time he's _ever_ done that, by the way - then Sam finds out, which means it's only a matter of time before other people do since Sam's info source is Becky-Big-Mouth and even if Sam keeps his yap shut, Becky definitely won't.  And now a fucking flu bug. 

At least he's getting some really fantastic sex out of this whole mess. 

The thought is enough to make him smile.  He can handle a few nosy friends, and a day or three of fevers and aches in return for mindblowing sex.  He's a healthy young man with a working dick.  Heck yeah he thinks it's worth it. 

A hand on his arm brings his attention to Cas who is starting to look downright alarmed.  “Michael?” 

“Shit, do I really look that bad?” Dean asks with a weak smile. 

“You’ve been sitting there staring at the steering wheel for five minutes, and you didn’t respond to your name until I touched you.” 

 _Because it’s the wrong name._  

He shakes away the thought, and sighs.  When the world spins briefly, he’s tempted to give in to Cas' wishes and book another night in the motel.  Especially since it's already getting late in the day.  He's not averse to driving in the dark, but with his head pounding like it is...   

Cas’ hand smoothes over the back of his neck, massaging muscles that have tightened up without his knowledge.  They relax under the demon’s soothing touch.  God, he really does want to go back to sleep, but he'd much rather get home to the comfort of his own bed and personal space. 

Shaking free of the touch, he avoids Cas' eyes as he hooks an arm over the seat, twisting so he can watch his progress as he backs out of the parking space.  He has to take it slow because the turn of the scenery outside the car gives the food in his belly the bright idea that evacuation might be a grand adventure.  Swallowing against the nausea, he continues to ignore Cas' worried looks, and pulls out of the motel's parking lot and keeps his eyes peeled for the road signs the motel clerk had given him. 

He finds the Walgreen's only a few minutes later and leaves Cas in the car while he runs inside for what he needs.  On top of the meds, he grabs a few energy drinks and some snacks.  His stomach still feels a little off kilter, but despite the fact that he ate the food Cas bought him less than an hour ago, a craving hits him like a Mack truck when he walks past the a display full of cookies and crackers.   

Never one to deny himself he grabs a pack of chocolate chip cookies and a box of Cheez-its.  Cas is probably going to flip about the crackers, but Dean just grins.  The demon is kind of cute when he gets fussy about Dean’s food. 

The kid at the counter eyes Dean as he settles his purchases in the counter.  "You don't look so hot, man." 

Dean responds by waving the box of DayQuil at him.  "Just ring me up." 

The kid shrugs, pops his gum, and starts scanning.  The beep beep beep makes Dean grind his molars together as the pain digs further into his skull. 

Out in the car, he pops two of the DayGlo orange pills, washing them down with several swigs of Red Bull.  When he lowers the can, he glances over and finds Cas giving him the stink-eye.  “What?  I got something on my face?” 

Cas’ eyes narrow further.  “We should go back to the motel so you can sleep some more.” 

For half a second Dean considers the idea, but then he shakes his head.  “Nah, I’m fine.” 

“You are not,” Cas states flatly.   

Dean sighs, because yeah, he’s not actually fine.  “Let it go, Cas.” 

“Michael-” 

“Seriously, man, let it go.  I’ll be fine once the pills kick in.”  He wishes he had one of Sam's hangover concoctions.  He'll have to bribe Sam to make him some more. 

Cas doesn’t agree or disagree, but he continues to stare at Dean like he’s trying to see the germs inside him causing his illness.   

Ignoring the demon's pointed stare, Dean starts the car again and pulls out of the Walgreen’s.  He feels light headed, and the lines on the road seem to be fuzzy, but he powers through it.  Soon the meds will kick in and he’ll be good as new. 

He continues to think that until they’re about ten miles out of town when his vision wavers so badly that he’s startled by a honk in the lane next to him.  He jerks his head around to see that he’s drifted over the line.  The move is a mistake because suddenly the world is spinning, along with the wheel in his hands. 

He feels the wheel pull out of his grip, and he slams on the breaks.  The tires squeal on the asphalt for a moment before a low roar fills the cab as the car hits the dirt next to the road.  It slides through the gravel for several long seconds before jerking to a stop hard enough that Dean might have gotten intimate with the steering wheel if it weren’t for the strength of Cas’ arm holding him back. 

“FUCK.”  Gasping for breath, Dean stares blindly at the steering wheel until his heart rate calms down.  The hands gripping it are not his own.  

Cas’ fingers loosen from the wheel and he collapses back into his seat.  “Michael, you are ill,” he says firmly.  “And we need to go back to the motel.” 

“Damnit, I’m fine.  I just need-” 

“If you insist on finishing this trip despite your condition,” Cas cuts in angrily, “Then I will drive the rest of the way.” 

“ _What?”_ Dean practically screeches.  “No!  Do you even know how to drive?   _No._ ” 

“I do not have practical experience, but I believe my understanding of the process should be sufficient with some guidance.” 

“No way, Cas.”  Dean no longer feels half asleep.  Shock and horror have done what the coffee and the Red Bull haven’t been able to, and now he’s wide awake, and offended as hell that Cas thinks driving Dean’s baby is even an option.   

Besides, what good would it do?  He wouldn’t be able to rest, much less sleep.  He’d be freaking out over every little bump or swerve. 

No, it’s crazy.  It’s fucking _insane._  

Cas' eyes narrow, and glimmer with calculation.  "You prize this vehicle very highly." 

Dean rolls his eyes.  "Yeah, Cas." 

"And you do not wish to risk my lack of experience damaging it." 

He's going somewhere with this, but Dean is feeling too muddled to follow along.  "Hell yes." 

"Yet you put it at risk when you try to operate it when you're too ill to keep it in a single lane." 

Dammit. Cas has him there. 

“At least let me drive us back to the motel.”  Cas scoots across the seat, narrowing the space between them.  He cups his palms around Dean’s face, turning him until they’re only inches apart.  “You need more rest.” 

Dean blinks slowly.  His eyelids feel heavier than they should, and he finds himself leaning into Cas.   

He really doesn’t want to go back to the motel.  He wants to get home, where he can wallow in flu-ridden misery in the comfort of his own bed. 

With a sigh, he gives in.  His forehead bumps softly against Cas’.  “Alright fine, Cas, but just as far as the motel.  Trade me places.” 

Cas’ fingers tighten, and he smiles.  He places a soft kiss against Dean’s lips, barely more than a brush of their mouths and then releases him. 

Dean grumbles at himself as he slides out from behind the wheel, taking Cas’ place in the passenger seat.  He winces when Cas climbs over his lap to trade him places.  Not because he hurts Dean, but because the motion causes their bodies to rub together in interesting ways.  His body hadn’t responded to the hot motel clerk, but it’s definitely attuned to the hot sex demon. 

The engine is still running, so Cas puts the car back in gear.  He twists to check his blind spot, and before Dean can even process that, he pulls smoothly back onto the highway.  In seconds, they’re up to speed and blending into traffic. 

“Where did you learn to drive?” Dean’s words are clipped and tense, and he watches every move Cas makes like a hawk.   

“From watching you.”  Cas keeps his eyes on the road when he answers, which makes Dean feel marginally better. 

Dean huffs out a surprised breath.  “Really?  That’s it?” 

He can see Cas’ wide smile, even though the demon doesn’t bother to look at him.  “I am very old.  I have more life experience than you can even comprehend.  Why do you think I would have difficulty learning to drive from observation?” 

Dean doesn’t bother to explain that aging has the opposite effect on humans.  “So you’re telling me they don’t have demon driving schools in hell?” 

Cas chuckles, and some of the tension leaves Dean’s shoulders.  “There is no need for it when we are capable of learning anything almost instantaneously.” 

“That must be nice,” Dean mumbles as he settles back further into the passenger seat.  His headache is starting to ease, so the DayQuil must be kicking in.  But all the caffeine he’s had doesn’t seem to be doing shit, because he feels exhaustion creeping over him again.   

“I certainly find it useful in the human world.” 

Dean tries to keep an eye out for the next exit so he can give Cas directions back to the motel.  But the vibration of the Impala’s wheels over the old asphalt of the highway is making it harder and harder to keep his eyes from slipping shut.  “Yeah, I guess that’s a good thing if you’re planning on sticking around for a while.” 

“I am,” Cas says simply.   

The sign for the exit looms up on the side of the highway, and Dean opens his mouth to give Cas directions. 

But Cas speaks first.  “Go to sleep, Dean Michael.  I will get you home safely.”   Magic laces his words so thickly that Dean can practically see them floating in the air between them.   

Alarms go off in Dean’s head, and he tries to whip around to look at the demon, but the command combined with Dean’s True Name do their work.  His eyes slip closed, and he slumps down in the seat.  Just before sleep completely overtakes him, he feels Cas’ fingers gently wrap around the back of his neck and pull him down to lay across the seat.  His head ends up pillowed on Cas’ thigh, and the last thing he’s aware of is the light scratch of Cas’ fingertips over his scalp.

***

 When Dean wakes to the gentle rocking of the Impala, the only illumination comes from the dash lights because it’s pitch black outside.  He isn’t sure how late it is, but if it’s dark then they’ve been on the road for at least eight hours.  The Impala had a full tank when they left Whitefish, but Cas must have stopped at least once to get gas.  And he slept through it.  Fuck. 

He takes a moment to take stock of the situation, first analyzing himself only to find his headache is completely gone and so is the lowkey nausea that had been plaguing him since after his last meal.  In fact he actually feels pretty good, although there’s an ache in his lower back from the way he’s twisted sideways on the seat.  He is definitely going to regret that. 

“Are you hungry?” Cas asks softly above him.  “I saw a sign advertising a restaurant several miles back, and the exit is coming up soon.  We should stop for gas anyway.” 

Dean shifts, grimacing when he realizes the soft denim under his cheek is soaked with drool.  He wipes his face on his arm as he pushes himself upright.  His first instinct is to apologize for leaving a wet spot on Cas’ jeans, but he’s clear headed enough to remember exactly how he ended up using Cas’ thigh as a pillow in the first place.   

“You know my Name,” he says in an angry growl, ignoring Cas’ question. 

The demon’s face is an impassive mask when he glances away from the road illuminated only by the Impala’s headlights to look at Dean.  He holds Dean’s gaze for only a moment before turning his attention back to the road.  “Yes,” he answers simply. 

Dean waits for him to say more, but Cas remains silent other than to flick on the blinker.  He takes the exit smoothly, as if he’s been driving for decades instead of hours.   

“How long have you known?” Dean finally demands as they come to a stop sign at the end of the off ramp. 

“For approximately twenty-four hours.”  He takes a right turn, and Dean can see lights surrounding a gas station and a diner right next to it.  The road goes past them, and more lights hint at a town in the distance.   

As soon as Dean sees the diner, his stomach rumbles loudly in the silence of the car.  He’s too angry to acknowledge it though. 

They pull into the parking lot of the diner while Dean waits for Cas to elaborate.  He grinds his teeth when he realizes the demon has no intention of volunteering anything further.  “How did you find out?” 

Cas turns off the engine, and finally turns to face Dean.  “You told me.” 

“No I…” Dean trails off when the memory that he hadn’t been able to focus on through his misery earlier finally surfaces.   

 _Cas above him, his eyes black with lust, his body moving in long rolling thrusts.  His cock thick and pulsing inside Dean’s ass.  Every movement massaging over Dean’s prostate and urging him closer and closer to another orgasm.  And his mouth forming syllables that don’t sound right, don’t feel right, can’t possibly taste right on the demon’s tongue._  

 _Dean, mouth open on a gasp, on a sigh, speaking…_  

“Fuck, I did,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, even though he’d rather rub it over his hardening dick.  Then he narrows his eyes at Cas.  “How did you _hear_ me?”  But he doesn’t need Cas to answer that one.  “Shit it was when I freed the banshee from the silencing spell, wasn’t it?” 

Cas only nods to acknowledge his words.  His face is a still mask, but his pupils give away his emotions, widening and contracting slowly. 

“Were you going to tell me, or were you just going to use it to force me to your will whenever you-” he stops to drag in a breath and jam his fingers back through his hair.  “Whenever you want me to take a _fucking nap_?  What happened to your promise not to use it to Bind me?” 

The argument isn’t completely fair since Cas hasn’t Bound him.  But there’s the loophole he was afraid of.  He’s not Bound, but Cas still used his Name to control him.  Just like he used his venom in the beginning when he was first summoned. 

And despite that, Dean had still trusted Cas to drive his car.  Fuck, was that really trust, or was it a lingering effect of the venom? 

“Michael, you were ill, I-” 

“ _Don’t fuckin’ call me that!_ ” Dean slams his fist against the dash.  The sting of pain only makes him angrier.  “Don’t say any part of my goddamn name.” 

Cas flinches and presses his lips shut but he doesn’t look away. 

Hunger and anger wrestle for dominance in Dean’s belly, and he pants with the urge to lash out.  He sucks in a deep breath and let’s it out slow, turning to look out the windshield at the bright lights of the diner.  “Why are you still here, Cas?  I thought you planned on taking off as soon as you found out my Name.” 

“I said I would serve you until I guessed it, not that I would leave afterwards.” 

“Leaving was pretty heavily implied though."  Or was it?  He's no longer sure.  Cas always says exactly what he means, and Dean adds his own assumptions to it.  "You’re still here.” 

Cas’ eyes blaze bright as his pupils contract into tight slits.  “I do not wish to leave.” 

“And what if I wanted you gone?” Dean asks softly.   

The demon goes so still that Dean doesn’t think he’s even breathing anymore.  At least until he speaks.  “Is that what you want?” 

Dean’s skin goes hot, then cold.   _No._  

But what he says out loud is “Yes.” 

Other than a slight flair of his nostrils and a twitch of his pupils, Cas doesn't react.  "As you wish." 

There's a faint fluttering sound when Cas disappears before him. 

Dean lets out his breath in a rush.  In the absence of oxygen, his lungs ache.  Or maybe it's his heart since the pain doesn't ease when he inhales. 

Without Cas, the car feels strangely empty.  It's similar to how he felt the first time he went on a hunt on his own. 

Well whatever.  He never let it bother him before, and he's not going to start now. 

He looks out the windshield at the diner.  It's closer to morning than midnight so the place is mostly deserted.  He can see a waitress giving a grizzled older man - a truck driver probably since there is a semi parked not too far away - a friendly smile as she fills his coffee cup.  There's a dark haired boy moving around in the kitchen, and Dean's stomach growls when he imagines the oily scent of whatever is being cooked back there. 

He's starving, but the idea of going in there and being that close to other humans makes nausea twist in his gut.  Instead of going into the diner, Dean slides over to the driver's seat and starts the engine again.   

The needle in the gas gage is hovering dangerously above E, so he pulls out of the parking space and navigates to the gas station neighboring the diner and fills the tank.  He still has the bag of energy drinks and snack foods sitting in the back seat, so he grabs the cookies. 

Not exactly healthy.  Cas would definitely disapprove. 

He shoves a whole one in his mouth out of spite. 

He washes it down with Red Bull.  He could probably find himself a motel, but he's been asleep long enough that he isn't tired, and the headache that plagued him before Cas whammied him to sleep has faded to an uncomfortable memory, so he decides to just drive on through until he's home.  It shouldn't be too difficult with enough sugar and caffeine, and he's got a ready supply.  Plus a glance at the GPS on his phone tells him Cas covered most of the distance already, taking them more than halfway home while Dean was asleep. 

As he pulls back onto the highway, he turns on the stereo.  Metallica's Master of Puppets is in the tape deck already, and he smiles grimly and cranks up the volume.  Perfect. 

***

 Nearly six hours later, Dean breathes a sigh of relief as he pulls the Impala into his rented garage.  He turns off the engine and listens to the engine tick as he leans his head back on the seat. 

He should be eager to get inside his apartment.  There's real food, a shower, and a memory foam mattress waiting to welcome him, and his whole body aches with yearning for the familiar comforts of home. 

But the food isn't cooked, and Cas isn't there to prepare something for him.  No matter how hot the water is, the shower will feel cold without Cas there to share it.  And he knows his blankets and sheets are still rumpled and stained from his last romp with Cas before they left for Montana. 

Will he still smell Cas when he walks into his room? 

Part of him hopes so, and it's not just the part between his legs, but he tries not to think about that too hard. 

Hours in a car with nothing to distract him from his own thoughts except a box of cassettes that he knows by heart is a long time.  His anger faded about half way through, and he spent the rest of the time analyzing Cas' actions. 

He's still upset, but no longer blindly furious.  Cas was just trying to help, even if he had a shitty way of going about it.  And Dean _did_ feel much better after getting more sleep... 

And there he goes, thinking too much again when all he wants to do is let his mind go blank. 

With a frustrated huff, he pulls his keys from the ignition and gets out of the car.  He's almost too tired to carry his duffel and his summoner's kit inside, but he won't leave arcane tools even in the relative safety of a locked trunk in a closed and warded garage.  There are things in his kit that are too dangerous to risk falling into the hands of thieves. 

He drops the duffel just inside his apartment and carries the kit to his bedroom, hesitating just outside the threshold.  Pain stabs through his chest when he catches sight of the rumpled sheets.  He quickly averts his eyes, watching the carpet under his feet and he hurries to his closet where he keeps a spell box big enough to store his tools in. 

By the time he releases the spelled lock and packs the kit away he's breathing in short, shallow pants.  Each one burns his throat, and he swallows repeatedly in an attempt to hold back the emotion trying to rise up and leak out of his tear ducts. 

Once everything is locked away, he turns to rush out of his room, but his eyes land on the bed again and he jerks to a halt.  Standing in the middle of the room, he curls his fingers into the cloth of his shirt, pressing his fist into his sternum in an effort to ease the racing of his heart. 

After several minutes the frantic thumping calms and he takes a deep breath.  His lungs ache, and his stomach feels hollow due to more than hunger. 

He doesn’t realize that his feet have carried him forward until he lifts a knee to brace on the mattress.  The hand that isn’t trying to hold his heart in place reaches out and grabs the blanket he and Cas had slept wrapped in, and he drags it closer, bringing the fabric up to his nose. 

It smells like honey and cloves and sex, and Dean grabs another handful and buries his face in it.  His traitorous dick begins to harden, making his jeans feel stiff and uncomfortable. 

He drops the blanket and starts ripping at his clothes.  His fingers are shaking and he snarls when he has problems unfastening his fly, but soon he’s stripped bare and crawling into the bed.  Goosebumps chase each other over his skin, and his teeth start to chatter, which is ridiculous because it’s not that cold in his apartment.  But the shivering only abates slightly when he wraps himself in the blanket burrito style. 

Despite the chills wracking his body, his dick hardens even further now that he’s surrounded by Cas’ scent.  With a sound that is half whine and half growl of frustration, he wiggles until he can reach between his legs and wrap his fingers around himself.  He curls onto his side, arching his body around where his hand is sliding slow and steady over his erection. 

Heat pools inside him and the shivering eases.  He lets out a slow breath, and rocks his hips, fucking into his fist.  Each stroke warms him further, and he closes his eyes to better immerse himself in the bliss of arousal.   

It builds inside him quickly, but at a certain point it’s like he hits a wall.  He can feel the edge of his orgasm, but can’t quite make it over the line.   

He’s kept his mind deliberately blank, but now he allows himself to imagine it’s Cas’ hand instead of his own.  He gasps as the heat coils tighter in his gut.  But it’s still not… quite… Dammit, he _can’t-_  

“Cas,” he chokes out.  “ _Cas_ , I need you.” 

The bed tilts, and Dean’s eyes snap open to see Cas kneeling over him.  His pupils are wide ovals, and his mouth is open like he’s scenting the air.  “I’m here.”  He rests a hand on Dean’s hip.   

Even through the thickness of the blanket the touch burns.  But it chases the last spikes of ice from Dean’s blood stream.  “Cas…” 

Cas leans over him, and his sweet breath washes over Dean’s cheek.  “I’m here, Michael.  Tell me what you need.” 

“Dean.  Call me Dean.”  He’s panting like he’s run most of a marathon.  He can see the goal in the distance.   

 _Almost there._  

“Dean,” Cas breathes reverently.   

An orgasm whips through Dean, and he cries out.  Cas catches it with a kiss, flooding his system with honey and cloves and ecstasy.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't post this Friday. This chapter was a struggle, and on top of that I've had a lot of things going on that have been taking my attention away from writing. 
> 
> I'm going to try and have something out by next weekend, but I can't promise anything since I _still_ have stuff going on. If I don't get something out by Sunday, it might be a while because next week I'm having surgery. I'm not sure how much writing I'll get done while doped up on pain meds. Then again, that might be rather inspiring. Who knows? :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink warning: Biting and blood drinking.

After the kiss Dean expects Cas to pull the blanket away and crawl on top of him, but instead he lays down on his side next to Dean and stares at him with glowing eyes.  Dean is torn between burning disappointment and immense relief.   

Despite the relief of his orgasm, his body is already starting to yearn for more.  His lips tingle and he runs his tongue over them, lapping up whatever hint of venom left behind, but he resists his body's urge to close the tiny space between himself and the demon for another taste because even though he's not boiling over with rage anymore, he's still pissed.  At Cas for misusing his Name and at himself for giving it to him in the first place. 

After a long moment in which Dean's ragged breathing calms and his heart beat slows to a normal rhythm, Dean finally speaks.  "You came back." 

Cas hasn't blinked since he settled down for their silent staring match, but he does so now.  A slow lowering of his lids that is more an act of defense than a blink.  Like he needs to hide himself from Dean for just a moment before he responds.  When his eyes open again his pupils are tight black lines amid pools of blue.  "I will always come when you call." 

Dean becomes hyper aware of the space between them.  No part of Cas’ body - which is just as naked as Dean's, because of course he'd ditch his clothes asap - is touching him, and the blanket keeps Dean's nudity hidden.  He should probably feel self conscious of the fact that he's holding his softening dick in his jizz-coated hand, but he's comfortable and relaxed and finally warm. 

“I shouldn't have called you,” he says, barely above a rough whisper. 

Cas doesn't move, but Dean senses the sudden tension in his body. 

“I should send you away,” Dean continues. 

Cas closes his eyes.  His chin tilts down toward his chest and he takes a shuddering breath.  He remains silent. 

“Not gonna try and defend yourself, huh?” 

“I broke your trust,” Cas murmurs.  “I have no excuse.” 

Dean studies Cas’ features, and feels a twinge of pain behind his heart.  He ignores the reaction to Cas’ distress.  The demon has betrayed him twice, and he had no way of knowing if the pained expression is genuine or just an act.  “Why don't you tell me your reason, Cas.  I'll decide whether it's a good excuse or not.” 

He shouldn't ask.  He should banish Cas right now and ward his home against any possibility of return.  But he wants to know, and he can always send Cas away again. 

 _Assuming he doesn't whammy me again._  

Cas opens his eyes and pins Dan with his stare again.  His pupils are wavering, a sign Dean has learned to interpret as stress.  “You needed more rest.” 

“Yeah, and we were going back to the motel so I could take a nap.  But you hijacked my car.” 

“You wanted to be home.  I wanted to give you that.  It seemed best for me to continue the drive, but you worried more about your car than was necessary.” 

Dean snorts.  Cas isn't telling him anything he doesn't already know.  “Of course I was freaking out about my car.  It's a fucking classic, and a gift from my dad.  And in cherry goddamn condition even though it's older than I am.  It's worth more to me than a little lost time.  The only people I have ever handed the keys over to are my dad and my brother Sam.  Not even my baby brother Adam has ever driven it.” His voice rises song with his irritation as his rant continues.  “You've never driven before, Cas.  And you expected me to just let you take it on a two day road trip?  The _only_ reason I let you behind the wheel for even a few minutes is because that car is my baby and you were right that it was too dangerous for me to keep driving.” 

“I didn't understand, and I'm sorry.” 

Fuck everything, Dean totally believes him.  He sighs.  "I get that you were trying to take care of me, but I'm a grown ass man, and I've been taking care of myself for most of my life.  I don't need you forcing decisions on me." 

Cas winces, and shrinks in on himself. 

"And if I can't trust you, then you have to leave, Cas.  And you can't ever come back." 

"Castiel." 

Dean blinks.  "Um. Gesundheit?" 

The corners of Cas' lips quirk up.  "My Name is Castiel." 

His words practically vibrate with power.  Dean can feel it like a buzzing in his teeth, and a rising heat in his marrow.  Something curls around inside his ribs, down deep where his soul resides.  It's not painful, but it makes him gasp and curl inward, bringing his knees closer to his chest.  

"Castiel," he says on slow exhale.   

Cas shivers and his eyes drop to half mast, even as his pupils expand.  His lips part and he pants, scenting the air even as his pheromones thicken around them. 

Closing his eyes against the demon's obvious arousal is Dean's only defense against it.  It does nothing to stifle his own, and his spent dick is hardening in his hand.  But it gives him just enough control to keep from flinging the blanket back and attempting to burrow under Cas' - _Castiel's -_ skin.  "You trust me with your Name." 

"It is my promise to you." Cas' voice, always gravel rough, is almost an animal growl.  His fingertips brush the bridge of Dean's nose, making him flinch until he realizes Cas is petting his freckles.  "I will never use your Name to harm you or control you, and I give you my own as a weapon to use against me should I ever break your trust again." 

A shudder runs through Dean's frame.  "Castiel," he grits out as he throws the blanket back, revealing his nudity to the heat of Cas' gaze.  "I need you." 

He doesn't add any magic to his words, but Cas gasps softly, his fingers jerking away from Dean's face.  They come back immediately, cupping Dean's jaw and holding him still for a kiss. 

When Dean rolls onto his back Cas follows him, throwing a leg over to straddle his hips without breaking the kiss.  Their dicks slide against each other, and Dean bucks up for more friction, but Cas has other ideas.  Reaching between them, he grabs Dean’s dick and guides it to his slick hole, sinking down on him with no prep and no warning. 

The desperate sound Dean makes is muffled by Cas’ tongue in his mouth. 

Cas starts to move almost immediately, rocking his hips, arching over Dean and slamming back down without breaking the contact between their mouths.  Dean grabs the demon’s hips, but he doesn’t attempt to guide him.  He’s just hanging on for the ride. 

With Cas’ sweet venom filling his mouth, and seeping into his bloodstream it doesn’t take long for Dean to blow his load.  But Cas doesn’t stop.  He keeps fucking himself down, hard and fast, and Dean digs his fingers into Cas’ skin when he feels the pleasure cresting again.   

Fuck, he’s going to come again, and he knows that Cas will wring as many orgasms out of him as possible.  Until his balls are sore and empty, and his body is too weak to participate other than to keep sending blood to his dick to keep it hard for Cas’ pleasure. 

It should be terrifying because Dean knows he has no control right now.  No ability to resist the ever returning waves of lust and need.   

But instead of fear, he feels anticipation and greed.  He wants it.  He wants every drop of venom Cas will give him.  Wants to fill Cas with his own cum as many times as he can, until it’s dripping from Cas’ hole, and then he wants Cas to do the same to him. 

He whines when Cas sits up, finally breaking the kiss.  But Cas cups one hand behind Dean’s neck and the other behind his shoulder and pulls him up into a sitting position.  Dean shivers at the pleased noise Cas makes when his dick rubs against Dean’s belly.  He’s on board with the new position if Cas is going to keep making noises like that. 

Cas puts pressure on the back of Dean’s neck, pressing his face against the smooth skin of the demon’s chest.  “Use your teeth on me, Dean,” he gasps even as he shoves his hips down until Dean is buried as deep as possible, then begins to rotate them in small, grinding circles. 

Dean opens his mouth over Cas’ skin, and bites down.  Not hard, but enough to feel the pinch of flesh between his teeth. 

“Harder, Dean,” Cas demands.   

Fuck, he loves the way his first name sounds when Cas says it during sex.  It’s not his full True Name, but it’s _him,_ and hearing Cas say it… 

“Bite, Dean.” 

He does.  His jaw muscles clench down hard, harder, all the while Cas is gasping and saying his name over and over again. He bites until blood rushes over his teeth, the tang of it coating the insides of his cheeks and his tongue.  He feels it drip from the corners of his lips and down his chin, and still Cas is writhing on his dick, crying out in pleasure.  Hot liquid splashes across Dean’s chest and for a moment he’s not sure if it’s Cas’ blood or his semen.  Maybe both. 

Dean swallows, and comes so hard that he loses his grip on Cas, both with his hands and his teeth.  His body is only held up by Cas’ hands, and when the world tilts because Cas is laying him gently down on the bed, he’s unaware that it’s happening.   

All he can taste is the coppery sweetness of Cas’ blood.  All he can see is the liquid black of Cas’ eyes.  All he can feel is Cas’ skin burning against his own. 

And then he can’t sense anything at all for a while. 

He eventually wakes, stretched out on his back on the bed, with the weight of Cas’ body holding him down.  It takes a long time for the sleepy haze to clear from his mind, and he can’t tell how much time has passed.  Is it still daylight because he hasn’t been asleep long?  Or is it morning already, and he’s just too out of it to tell the difference? 

It doesn’t really matter to him at the moment.  Cas is warmer than any blanket, and stays half draped over Dean's body, his ear pressed to Dean's shoulder.  His softly rumbling purr vibrates through Dean's torso in a pleasant massage. 

He’s hungry.  Starving really.  And his bladder is starting to send seriously worded messages to his brain.  But he doesn’t feel like moving just yet.  There’s no way he could truthfully say that he doesn’t like the sex.  He’s sure it’s not possible for his mouth to even form such a heinous lie.  But he could easily say out loud and with no doubt in his mind or heart, that the post-sex cuddling is starting to be his favorite thing. 

He could, but he wouldn’t.  No need to overshare. 

So he’s just going to lay there and enjoy it until his bladder gets too insistent to ignore. 

“Castiel,” he says softly, enjoying the way his tongue twists around the syllables.  He didn’t intend to say anything further, but his brow furrows with confusion and he asks “Isn't that an Angel name?” 

Cas nuzzles the week-old bite mark on Dean's chest before he answers.  “My mother is an Archangel.” 

Dean stiffens and the pleasant lethargy weighing his body down disappears under an onslaught of adrenaline.  “You're a _nephilim_?” 

He's not proud of the squeaky quality of his voice, but no one would blame him for it.  Angels are the highest order of supernatural creatures, more powerful even than demi-gods.  Archangels _are_ gods for all practical definitions of the word.  And they are huge fucking douche bags that feel like all non-Angel species are lower than cockroaches.  No one with half a brain cell would do anything to attract an Angel’s attention.  Unless they're suicidal and planning to go out in the most painful way imaginable. 

Nephilim are rare specifically because Angels think that breeding with other creatures outside their species is practically beastiality.  Cas’ mom must have been a kinky bitch, but Dean isn’t about to question Cas about that.  Most nephilim are almost as stuck up as their celestial parents, and pissy about being born without wings-  except Cas said his true form has wings.  Is it because his mommy is an Archangel?   

“Not in the way you're thinking,” Cas says, as if reading Dean's thoughts. 

Dean is mostly sure Cas can't do that, but if he's a nephilim… 

“Nephilim are half breed Angels,” Cas continues.  “But there is no such thing as a half breed incubus.  Any child fathered by an incubus will be born an incubus, just as any child born of a succubus mother will be a succubus.  My mother was an Angel, and her blood runs in my veins, but I am fully incubus.  I have no angelic powers.  Merely an angelic name.” 

Dean blinks at that.  “Huh, that seems like something that should be in the text books.  What happens if a Succubus and an Incubus bump uglies?  Does the world implode?” 

Cas chuckles.  “We are unable to breed with each other, although that doesn’t stop us from practicing.”  He lifts his head, rolling to the side enough to expose Dean's bare belly.  Caressing the skin below Dean's navel, Cas smiles, and it is so full of wistful yearning that Dean's heart aches.  “If your body were capable of bearing my child, he would be born as an incubus, just as I was, but his True Form would have a combination of both our physical characteristics.”  His eyes meet Dean's and they twinkle with humor.  “I would hope he is prone to freckles as you are.” 

A blush burns under Dean's skin and he looks away shyly.  He knows he's attractive, and has been told countless times by many people, but something about compliments from Cas make him feel stripped bare in a way that goes beyond the physical.  He isn't sure whether he likes it or not.  Maybe a little of both. 

In an attempt to deflect, Dean falls back on snark.  “Man, that must really freak out the moms if they give birth to a demon baby.” 

He realizes almost immediately how insulting that must have sounded and winces, but Cas laughs, unoffended.  “Indeed,” he says with a toothy grin.  “Which is why we take the children from the mother's who do not wish to keep them.” 

“I'll bet that's most of them, right?” Dean asks.  His heart thumps a pained staccato.  He was so close with his mom, and he feels sorry for those faceless children who don't get the same kind of loving relationship with theirs.  “I wonder if that's where humans got the idea that sex demons are just out to make demon babies for shits and giggles.” 

Cas spreads his hand over Dean's belly, warming the area.  “That might be true for some.  My kind love children.  It would not surprise me if some of them deliberately breed with females.  Especially if their mate is unable to have any of their own.” 

Dean tenses at the mention of “mates”.  Cas brings the term up far too often for comfort. 

His reaction doesn't go unnoticed.  Cas always exudes supreme confidence, but now he practically vibrates with nerves.

“Cas,” Dean says softly.   

He doesn't get a chance to continue.  His front door opens with a jingle of keys and Sam's voice carries through the open bedroom door.  “Hey, Dean?  Are you home?” 

Shit, Sam is going to get an eyeful any second now.   

Aaand too late.  Sam’s large frame fills the bedroom doorway.  His eyes go wide, but he doesn’t spin around and escape back to the other room before his brain is irreparably damaged by the sight of his brother cuddling naked with a man-shaped demon.  Instead, his stance turns aggressive, and flames burst to life in his palms.  He glares at Cas, and lifts one fireball in threat.   

“Get the hell away from my brother,” Sam snaps. 

Cas does not take the threat well.  He raises himself up over Dean’s body, shielding him as if he thinks he needs to protect him from Sam.  He bares his teeth and snarls at Sam, and it is definitely a challenge. 

One that Sam immediately picks up on, and refuses to back down from.  He starts spitting out an exorcism, making Cas hiss. 

“Sam don’t-” But Dean is too late.  Cas is already starting to twitch with pain, his muscles locking up as the magic wraps itself around his limbs and digs into his muscles. 

The last words of the exorcism fall from Sam’s lips, and Cas disappears with a small _whuff_ of displaced air.  No longer pinned to the bed, Dean sits up with the intention of confronting his brother, but the world tilts on its axis and he has to stop and try and hold his head on his shoulders with both hands.   

That doesn’t stop him from demanding an explanation though.  “What the _hell,_ Sammy?” 

Sam crosses the room in a few long strides and kneels on the bed next to Dean.  He reaches out to cup Dean’s face, thankfully having extinguished his fireballs first, and lifts it so that he can examine Dean closely.  “Shit, Dean, what did he do to you?” 

Dean blinks a few times and the two Sam’s in front of him coalesce into a single Sam.  A very scared Sam.  “What?  He didn’t do anything, what are you talking about?” 

“You’re covered in blood, and you look like you’re two steps from the grave, Dean.  Fuck, how much weight have you lost?” 

Unsure whether Sam is just talking nonsense, or if his brain is just too muddled from post orgasm lethargy, Dean stares at his brother and tries to string together the events of the last sixty seconds in a way that will make sense.  “I haven’t lost any-” he cuts off and frowns, trying to remember if his clothes have been fitting any looser than before. 

“Can you stand?” Sam’s hands move from Dean’s face to his shoulders.   

“Of course,” Dean snaps.  He flails a hand, knocking Sam’s away, and scoots to the edge of the bed.   

His eyes fall on his legs when he swings them over the edge and places his feet on the cold wooden floor, and they go wide with shock.  He’s always been strong and lean, with heavily muscles calves and thighs, but now they look thinner.  He looks down at his torso, which _is_ covered in Cas’ dried and flaking blood, and feels a spike of fear when he realizes the tiny bit of flab on his stomach has disappeared, and he can see the bottom edge of his ribs.  “What the fuck?” 

His attempt to stand so that he can go to the full length mirror hanging from his closet door ends prematurely when the room begins to spin and pain shoots through his head.  It’s the same piercing headache he’s been suffering off and on for the last few days.  It had disappeared after his enforced nap in the Impala, but now it is back with a vengeance.  He nearly falls back on the mattress, but Sam catches him and lowers him back down gently. 

“That fucking monster did something to you, Dean.  And I swear to god, I’m going to hunt him down and incinerate him as soon as I make sure you’re not going to drop dead in the next fifteen minutes.” 

Dean lifts his head and blinks at Sam in confusion.  “He didn’t do anything to me, Sam.  I’m just coming down with the flu or something.  I just need some sleep and maybe one of your cure-all concoctions.” 

Sam scoffs and waves a hand up and down in Dean’s direction.  “This is _not_ the flu, Dean.  And that doesn’t explain the blood!” 

“It’s Cas’ blood,” Dean murmurs.  Sam shoots him a look like he has two heads, and they sang the words in harmony. 

He settles down on the mattress next to Dean, and digs his phone out of his pocket.  After a few taps on the screen he puts it up to his ear. 

“Who are you calling?” Dean demands. 

“I’m calling Dad.” 

“What?” Dean attempts to grab the phone away from Sam, but his brother brushes away his attempts as if they’re nothing.  And that’s when Dean starts to really worry.  He and Sam are evenly matched in strength, but Sam barely has to try and resist Dean’s efforts.   

That doesn’t mean he wants John Winchester involved in this though.  “Don’t call Dad, Sam.  I’m just coming down with something.  Probably a demon virus, ‘cause Cas sneezed on me a few times-” 

Sam doesn’t listen.  He perks up when his call is answered.  “Dad, hey it’s Sam.  When you get this, call me back.” 

Saved by the Voicemail Spirits.  Dean heaves a sigh of relief, but quickly covers it with a glare when Sam turns his attention back to him.  “I can’t believe you fucking called him.  I am fine, I don’t need his help.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sam waves a hand at the closet door and it swings until the mirror is facing the bed and they can both see their reflection. 

Dean sucks in a shocked breath.  He reaches up and pokes at his cheek.  His reflection copies the movement, which is the only way he is able to believe that _that_ is him. 

His skin is pale and sallow, and there are hollows under his eyes and cheeks, making him look gaunt and ill.  The blood on his chin and chest make him look like a vampire which makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.   

There is more evidence of weight loss in the way his collar and shoulder bones stick out sharply under his skin.  Tearing his eyes away from his reflection, he looks down at his hands, noticing the way his wrist bones are more prominent.  Shit, when did this start?  No one has said anything to him about his appearance for the last four days, but then again no one he knows has seen him.   

Well there was the lady at the motel, and the clerk at Walgreen’s.  They’d both looked at him like they weren’t sure he should be up and moving around.   

Anyone who knows him though… they’d be shocked by the change.  And he can understand now why Sam is freaking out.   

Still, though.  “Okay, Sam, I get it.  I look like shit.  But Cas didn’t-” 

“Don’t feed me that line, Dean,” Sam cuts in angrily.  He gets up from the bed and moves to the wall.  He flicks his fingers in a pattern and speaks a small spell, then pulls a piece of red chalk out of thin air.  He uses it to draw sigils on the wall, imbuing them with magic as he works.  “He’s feeding on you.  You’ve got signs of soul fatigue.  I’ll bet you’re constantly starving, right?” 

Dean nods slowly even though Sam isn’t looking at him. 

Headaches, nausea, dizziness, extreme fatigue, and the constant need to eat everything in sight.  He’d thought it was just a few germs from Cas’ sneeze- 

A few memories click into place and he groans when he realizes that Cas only sneezed whenever Dean’s name was said out loud.  The cloaking spell probably irritated his sinuses or something.  No germs, just a reaction to the spell.  And Dean didn’t fucking connect the dots.  God, how has he been so _stupid?_  

Rage wells up in his chest.  Cas has been _feeding_ on him.  Now Dean understands why Cas would turn his nose up to any offer of “human food”.  Why bother with masticating dead plants and animals when he can sip at Dean’s soul? 

But almost as soon as it comes, the rage goes.  Cas was constantly pampering him, and he’d obviously also noticed the decline in Dean’s health.  He was constantly bringing Dean food, and urging him to rest, even going so far as Commanding him into an all day nap.   

Thinking of Cas’ behavior, and the worry in his glowy-blue eyes, Dean is unable to believe that Cas was deliberately draining Dean.  He didn’t spend a lot of time in the Human Realm.  Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.   

His eyes snap up to the sigils Sam is drawing.  Demon warding. 

Panic makes him jump up from the bed.  Sam can't do that.  Cas won't be able to- 

His knees collapse and he falls to the floor with a painful thump.  It's not exactly how he planned to stop his brother, but it works anyway.  Sam stops halfway through a sigil to rush over to Dean's side. 

As soon as he's within reach, Dean curls his fingers in Sam's shirt and pulls him close.  “Undo it,” he demands.  “Erase the wards.” 

Sam's brows disappear under his shaggy hairline.  “Hell no, Dean.” 

“Cas wouldn't hurt me on purpose.” Dean tightens his grip even though Sam isn't trying to pull away.  “Let me call him back.  We can talk to him, figure out what's going on-” 

An incredulous laugh that sounds half panicked bursts from Sam's lips.  “Are you hearing yourself?  Dean, you're a Warlock.  You _know_ what you're saying is crazy!” 

Is it?  Yeah, demons are dangerous and Cas is not only unbound, but he also knows Dean's Name.  

But Cas gave Dean his own Name too.  He made himself vulnerable to Dean's power.  That has to mean something.  “I know it sounds crazy, Sam, but you gotta listen to me.  Cas isn’t like that.” 

“You sound like the Abused Spouse poster boy, Dean,” Sam huffs with irritation.  “And you’re definitely not thinking clearly.  You’re ill, and I’m not letting Cas anywhere near you.” 

“Sam, no-” 

But his brother is done with the conversation.  He does his little finger flick and cantrip and he’s got a tiny vial in his long fingers.  He pops the cork off with a thumbnail and forces the end of it into Dean’s mouth.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I promise I’ll let you punch me in the face when this is all over.” 

Dean tries to fight, to spit the potion out, but he’s weak compared to Sam.  He isn’t able to stop his brother from shoving his jaw closed, and holding his nose until he’s forced to swallow.  He glares hard at Sam, silently promising more than a punch in the face. 

As the sleeping draft kicks in, Dean’s second to last thought is _one of these days Sam’s gotta teach me that hidden storage trick of his,_ followed by _I’m getting really pissed at people puttin’ me to sleep._  The sound of Sam’s phone ringing echoes in his ears as his consciousness slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo I finished another chapter by Friday! And not even close to midnight like usual, but before 3pm even :D
> 
> So proud of myself, aw yeah.
> 
> Thanks for all the well wishes everyone. I am not excited about surgery Monday, so I'm gonna soak up all the positive vibes as much as possible until then ;)


	16. Chapter 16

_ _

_Dean thinks he might be in Hell.  But Hell is fire.  A wasteland of molten lava under your feet, and nothing but flames to breathe.  At least that’s what the books said.  Dean’s read Revelation.  He’s read Dante’s inferno.  He’s seen the Looney Tunes episodes._  

 _And Dean would give anything for a touch of that warmth right now.  Anything to stop the icy crystals from forming in his blood, the icy shards bursting the vessels.  He can feel his skin and his eyes freezing, cracks creeping through his flesh.  His lungs and his heart somehow still manage to function through the cold, but each beat, each breath is an agony._  

 _Someone is trying to warm him.  He can feel their hands on him, and each time he screams, his throat tearing, slushy frozen blood choking him.  Those hands leech what little warmth is left from his body, and he begs_ please please don’t where’s Cas please where’s Cas _because all he can remember of warmth and heat is the demon’s mouth and body against his own._  

 _Voices sometimes break through his pain but he doesn’t understand the words.  He recognizes some of the voices though.  Sam is with him, and their father.  He thinks he hears Bobby, but the iceberg growing from inside his body reclaims his attention._  

 _Cold cold cold, like the deepest pits of the ocean or the darkest regions of space.  His body is a lump of ice, and the edges of his soul are starting to crystalize as well._  

_Something pumps into his blood, and it burns, but not with heat.  His soul flinches away, screaming in a way that his throat is no longer capable of._

Dean? 

 _The warmth of that voice is thin, like a spring breeze, just a few degrees warmer than the permafrost gripping Dean’s body.  But he yearns toward it._  

Cas? 

Be strong for me, Dean.   

 _More warmth; a rustle of feathers.  Not enough to soothe the pain, but Dean strains his entire being toward it, hoping for more._ Cas, please.  I need you. 

_But the presence is gone.  The wisp of heat sucked away as if it had never been and Dean’s soul howls with grief._

 

xxx

 

Dean is awakened by a soft and steady _beep, beep, beep._ His eyes blink open, and he stares uncomprehending at the unfamiliar tiled ceiling for several long minutes.  Eventually, the fact that he’s looking at pitted drop tiles like they use in large buildings, and not the smooth white of the ceiling in his bedroom sinks in, and his brow crinkles in confusion.

When he digs for his last memory, a spike of pain digs through the base of his skull, and he winces and lets go of the thought.  He drifts again for a few minutes before his eyes slide from the ceiling to the wall on his left.  He finds a wall of windows, shades pulled low to dim the light in the room.  They’re just thin enough that he can see the outline of tree branches outside, swaying in a gentle breeze.  It appears to be midday if he’s judging the angle of the light correctly. 

Carefully, he turns his head the other way on the pillow, and he catches sight of a door open to an empty hall.  There’s a low murmur coming from outside, the bustle of people moving quietly about their business, but he can’t see anyone.  At the moment, he appears to be completely alone.  

A twinge of _wrong_ pings around inside his chest, making his breath hitch. 

He lifts his hand and places it over his heart, trying to calm the erratic beating, but the gesture does little.  The steady beeping speeds up slightly, but he ignores it. 

He can tell there’s something (someone?) he’s missing, and his pulse speeds up as he tries to think, to remember.  He gives up when the ache in his head returns.  He’ll figure it out, but right now he’s too exhausted to dig through the pain to whatever it is he’s trying to remember. 

It takes more effort than he’d like to push himself first onto his elbows and then into a sitting position.  To his relief there are no dizzy spells or light headedness waiting for him once he’s sitting up.  A quick glance around is all he needs to identify his location.   

This is definitely a hospital room.   

He swings his legs off the bed, and hisses when his bare feet touch the tiled floor.  He’s cold, and not wearing much to keep him warm; just a t-shirt and some soft pajama pants.  He’s glad it’s not one of those open backed gowns though.  He doesn’t want to see what it’s like to literally freeze his ass off from lack of cover.   

The tiles suck heat out through the soles of his feet, causing goosebumps to chase up his legs.  A shiver wracks him, and he’s tempted to jerk his feet back up and bury them under the blanket to regain the lost heat, but he forces himself to stand instead.  He needs to find out what’s going on.   

Sam’s probably around somewhere.  Maybe even his dad.  Dean’s pretty sure that ending up in a hospital would be something Sam would call John for.  Despite the fact that they butt heads more often than not, there’s no way Sam would keep something like this from their dad. 

And speaking of… where the hell are they?  A shiver that is not caused by the lingering cold in Dean’s limbs dances down his spine.  Despite the soft susurrations of voices and movement outside the door, the place feels empty, as if Dean is the only inhabitant of the whole building.   

He’s wobbly, but Dean manages to put one foot in front of the other, slowly eking out a path to the hallway.  He pauses in the doorway to catch his breath, looking left and right and finding nothing but empty space.  Doors line the hall, some open, some closed.  He catches the sounds of a TV from one across the way, and more _beep beep beeping_ that is counter-time to the beat of the heart monitor in Dean’s own room.  But the door is mostly closed and he can’t see if there is anyone occupying the room, even when he cranes his neck to see through the crack. 

Not that he should be trying to creep on other patients.  Feeling a little guilty for his nosiness, Dean puts effort into moving again.  He has to lean against the wall for part of the trip, and even when he can walk upright on his own, he trails his fingers against the pale seafoam green wallpaper for guidance. 

Near the end of the hall, he finds a desk occupied by a nurse.  She doesn’t look up, when he appears, but then again he’s not really making any sound to catch her attention. 

“Hey.”  His voice is a rasping croak, barely audible. He clears his throat and tries again.  “Hey, Miss?” 

No response. 

Dean sighs and looks at the distance between himself and the desk.  He’s already exhausted from the short trip, and fighting against the panic setting in with his blurry mind is taking most of his energy.  But he doesn’t want to raise his voice and disturb any of the other patients, so he shuffles forward.  Losing contact with the wall is unsettling, and his balance feels off, but he manages to walk in a straight line to the desk instead of listing off to the left like his head feels like it wants to do. 

“Miss?” Dean tries again once he’s got his hands braced on the waist high desk between them.  When she still doesn’t look up, he frowns.  What the hell?  He snaps his fingers near her face and tries again.  “Hey, can you hear me?”

Nothing.  Son of a bitch. 

“She can’t hear you.” 

Dean spins around and would have toppled to the floor if his body weren’t pressed against the desk.  He finds a small figure in a hooded black robe regarding him from a few feet away.  He grabs at his chest and takes a few deep breaths before barking out “Jesus, don’t sneak up on a guy like that.” 

The robed figure’s shoulders shake, and a raspy laugh emanates from the void under the hood.  “I apologize.  I wasn’t trying to give you a heart attack.  It’s not the way you’re meant to go.” 

Dean’s eyes narrow on the creature.  Fear tangles with irritation in his gut, and he grabs onto the irritation as an anchor.  “You’re a reaper.” 

One skeletal hand raises up, the reaper’s sleeve falling back nearly to its bony elbow, and the fingers wiggle in a cheerful wave.  “In the flesh.  Sort of.” 

The fear threatens to wiggle it’s way up out of Dean’s stomach, and into his esophagus.  He swallows it down, and digs deeper to get a better hold on his irritation.  “I’m not going with you.” 

Even though the reaper’s face is not visible beneath its cowl, Dean can tell that its humor vanishes.  “I’m not here to take you anywhere.  I’m here to make sure you stay.” 

Dean blinks.  Wait, what?  “Uh… I’m sorry?” 

The reaper shrugs.  “You did my cousin a favor not too long ago.  When it came through the grapevine that you might kick the bucket, he asked me to help you out.” 

He has no idea what this reaper is talking about.  He hasn’t done favors for any reapers that he can think of.  He hardly ever deals with them.  In fact, the last time he had anything to do with a reaper was… oh.  “Is your cousin the one with the bitchy banshee girlfriend?” 

To say the reaper “beamed” would be a misnomer, since they’re always Blacky McDarkness with the robes and the shadows and shit.  But the void under this one’s cowl shifts in such a way, that Dean’s pretty sure is a happy grin.  All he actually catches sight of is the edge of a bony jaw.  “Yeah!  You should see those two now.  They’re so into each other it’s gross.” 

Dean can’t even imagine, so he doesn’t bother to try.  “That’s, uh… great.  Good for them.” 

The reaper nods, and there’s another flash of pale bone.  “So no walking into the light for you.  I mean unless you want to.  But I kinda get the feeling that you’d rather not.” 

“Yeah, no,” Dean concedes.  “Not ready for that.” 

“Good!  So let’s get you back to your body.” 

His body?  Dean’s head dips and he looks at himself, then back to the reaper.  “Uh, my body’s right here, buddy.” 

The cowled head shakes.  “No it isn’t.  Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Between one blink and the next, the reaper closes the distance between them.  It’s bony fingers close gently around Dean’s elbow, giving him the smallest hint of support and a tiny nudge back in the direction Dean had come from.  Dean flinches away from the reaper’s touch, but forces himself to allow it.  The reaper already told him it isn’t here to take him to the afterlife, and besides he actually does need the support.  Every second he spends standing is a drain on his energy, and he finds himself eager to get back to his room so he can lie back down. 

Progress is slow, since Dean can’t manage more than a tired shuffle.  It gives him plenty of time to look around, and although he can still hear signs of life, he doesn’t see anyone.  He hasn’t seen anyone except the lady at the desk.  “Where is everyone?” he finally asks about halfway to his room. 

The reaper’s cowled head turns to him.  “Oh, sorry.  You’re in a halfway place right now.  Hold on, I’ll help you.”   

It reaches up and presses a boney finger to the center of Dean’s forehead.  A tingle erupts under his skin at the same time the lowkey grumble of noise surrounding them escalates into full volume.  Dean lets out a startled shout when suddenly the hall is filled with people.  Nurses and doctors move with determined strides up and down the corridor.  A man in a wheelchair teases a young nurse as she pushes him into the doorway of his room.  Laughter pulls Dean’s attention to an open door on his right where a young woman sits in a bed surrounded by people bearing balloons and bouquets.   

“What the fuck?” 

The reaper removes its finger from his forehead and resumes leading him down the hall.  “You were closer to the end than you should have been.  I’ve brought you back as close as I can without actually shoving you into your body.” 

Dean doesn’t respond because there’s a commotion around the door to the room he’d come from.  Sam, and John are huddled outside the door, hands gripping each other as they watch horror-struck whatever is happening inside Dean’s room.   

Shaking loose from the reaper’s grasp, he hobble-runs to them.  He meant to stop right behind them, touch them to get their attention and find out what’s wrong, but instead he finds himself just inside the room.  Doctors and nurses are swarmed around the bed, and Dean sucks in a horrified breath when he catches a glimpse of _himself_ between their shoulders as they move. 

His body is icy-pale, with IV needles and heart monitors sprouting from his hands and a huge tube shoved down his throat.  His chest is bare, and he can see electrodes stuck to his ribs and stomach.  One doctor sticks two large square ones to his chest, and shouts “Clear!” 

Everyone backs off, and Dean’s body convulses as electricity is pumped into it. 

“What the fuck?” Dean barks.  He spins around to confront the reaper, but finds it standing right at his side.  “I thought you said I wasn’t dying!  Why are they doing that?” 

The reaper’s cowl stays pointed at Dean’s body, watching impassively as they jolt him again.  “Well technically you  _are_ dying.” 

“‘the fuck do you mean ‘technically’?” Dean demands.  He can feel his heart racing fast and rambunctious under his sternum, and he doesn’t understand why it isn’t correlating with the heartbeat of his… his… 

“You’ve gotta take that last step, Dean-o,” the reaper responds with a shrug.  “I can’t make the choice for you.” 

Dean claps both hands over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming in frustration.  The doctors turn up the juice and shock him again.  The piercing tone from the heart monitor agitates him, and he wants to pick it up and throw it across the room to shut the fucking thing up.  

The reaper says nothing, and Dean decides maybe using a little of that force on it might do him better than breaking hospital equipment.  He drags his hands down, freeing his mouth.  “Tell me what to do, man.” 

The cowl turns and regards Dean.  “You know what you need to do.” 

He doesn’t. 

 _He doesn’t._  

Fuck, any second now they’re going to call time of death- 

In two quick strides he closes the distance between him and the bed, ignoring the fact that he’s moving _through_ a doctor, and grabs his own hand. 

It feels like he stuck his arm into a bucket of liquid nitrogen.  The muscles of his hand freeze, and then his arm.  He stares at the limb wide-eyed, waiting for it to turn blue and frost over.  The cold creeps higher and higher, enveloping his shoulder.   

He lets out a wounded noise.  He can’t do it.  It’s too cold.  He needs… he needs… 

A skeletal hand wraps around Dean’s wrist and pries his fingers away.  As soon as the contact to his corporeal form is broken the ice in his arm thaws and he sucks in a deep breath. 

The steady _beep beep beep_ of the heart monitor fills the expectant silence, and there’s a collective sigh of relief.  For a brief moment, everyone’s shoulders sag as the tension drains out of them.  And then there’s bustling movement again. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Sammy calls from the open doorway.   

The doctor that Dean is standing in - gross, by the way - turns and shuffles to the door.  Dean stays near the bed, but watches her as she speaks quietly to his brother and father just outside in the hall. 

Sam’s wide eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and he listens to the nurse with an intense focus.  John’s eyes never leave Dean’s body, and anyone who didn’t know him might think he isn’t paying attention to the nurse, but Dean can tell by the way John’s body is curved toward her that he’s absorbing everything she has to say just as intently as Sam is. 

The doctor’s voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of no-nonsense to her words.  “His body is rejecting the anti-venom and has gone into shock.  We’re doing our best to stabilize him, but I’m afraid this is the worst case of addiction I’ve ever encountered.” 

“What does that mean?” Dean demands, forgetting that he’s having an out of body experience, and no one but the reaper can hear him. 

Sam echoes his words.  “What does that mean?” 

The doctor glances over her shoulder at the nurses still bustling around Dean’s body, and winces at the sight.  Dean sees it, but her expression clears before she turns back to Sam and John.  “It means we have no way to treat his condition.  Without a dose of venom from the demon-” 

“No,” John cuts in firmly.  His eyes shift to the doctor, and burn into her.  “Out of the question.” 

“But-” 

“No.” 

The doctor presses her lips together, but gives a tight nod.  “Of course.  But in his condition, the lack of venom may kill him.” 

“Oh fuck.”  Dean feels the metaphysical blood drain out of his metaphysical brain.  Addiction?  To Cas’ venom? 

A memory slides across the edges of his awareness.  Waking up from Sammy’s potion, arguing with him about Cas for a few minutes before puking on Sam’s shoes and passing out.  Waking up again later to hear Sam and John yelling at each other in the other room.  Sam demanding that Dean be taken to a hospital, and John refusing to take Dean outside the warded apartment.  They’d stopped when they heard Dean retching again, and rushed into the room.   

He rubs a hand across his face.  More memories surface.  Some of John forcing water down his throat, and some of Sam bathing his face with a warm washcloth.  The images come in bits and pieces, and he wonders how long they took care of him before John finally caved and brought him to the hospital. 

“Dad.” Sam turns the full urgency of his gaze on John.  “If it means he’ll die-” 

“He won’t,” John snaps. 

The doctor shakes her head.  “We’re going to do everything we can.  But you have to understand, he’s been bitten three times.  The venom has been injected directly into his blood.  And if he’s ingested any of the demon’s blood, that will compound the issue tenfold.” 

Dean licks his lips.  He can almost taste a hint of copper, honey, and cloves.  

“My son would never do that,” John says in a low growl. 

Dean winces. 

“Huh, shows what he knows, right?” 

Dean had forgotten the presence of the reaper at his side.  He shoots it a quelling glare.  “Shut the fuck up.” 

The reaper just shrugs it’s shoulders and spreads its hands in a _what did I say?_ gesture.  Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the conversation between the doctor and his family. 

Sam’s mouth twists for a moment before he breaks the staring match between John and the doctor with his words.  “What would it mean if he did?  Ingest the demon blood, I mean?” 

“Sam-” 

“Dad, we need to know.” 

“Dean would never-” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean moans.  “Just let her answer the fucking question, dad!” 

Even though there’s no way John could have heard Dean, his mouth snaps shut and he huffs a frustrated breath through his nose.  Finally he dips his chin in invitation for the doctor to continue. 

She eyes him for a moment as if waiting for another explosion, but finally answers Sam’s question.  “If Dean ingested the demon’s blood, it would have a profound effect on his body chemistry.  At the very least, he’ll be permanently addicted and will need small doses of venom constantly for years.  Depending on the type of demon, blood transfers can cause a mating bond.” 

Sam’s eyes go wide and his skin goes pale so fast that Dean’s afraid he’ll pass out.  John notices his reaction as well, and grabs Sam’s shoulder to steady him.  “A mating bond?” 

Oh fuck. 

Dean feels a little light headed himself.  His knees wobble, and he braces himself against the rail of his bed.  

Mating bond. 

Cas is always going on about mates and taking care of Dean, and they’ve _definitely_ swapped bites.  The niggling memory of the textbook Dean had been meaning to look for finally gels, and he hears the words in his head as if they’re read to him out loud by the demon himself. 

 _Succubi and Incubi form blood bonds with their mates, initiated by blood transfer, typically via bites so the blood can be ingested.  They mate for life, and are extremely possessive and protective of their mates, often becoming highly dangerous to anyone or anything that threatens them._  

He’d just skimmed over the section.  It didn’t have anything to do with the actual summoning spell, and Dean hadn’t considered it important information at the time.  He’d done well in school, but he’d mostly focused on summoning and containment, and had promptly forgot anything else unless it was required for a test or a paper he was writing. 

“That’s the _least_ of the problems?” Sam squeaked.  “What’s the worst?” 

The doctor squared her shoulders, but her voice was kind when she spoke.  “Death.  If they’re mated, then the anti-venom won’t work and Dean will have to fight off the addiction on his own.  The success rate of coming off the venom without it is very low.” 

“You’re saying he _could_ die,” John interjects when Sam looks like he’s about to lose his lunch and can’t carry the conversation any further.  “But there’s a chance he’ll survive this.” 

The doctor nods.  “At this point, we just need to wait and see how his body handles the withdrawal symptoms.  He’s hanging on, and he’s fighting.  He has a chance.”  She pauses, pressing her lips together and visibly gathering herself.  “But you need to prepare yourself for the worst case scenario.” 

John’s eyes narrow, and a lesser person might cower away from his glare.  The doctor doesn’t even flinch, which is pretty impressive in Dean’s book.  “My son is going to live.” 

Dean swings his head toward the reaper still standing at his side.  “Am I?” 

The reaper reaches up to pat his shoulder with a bony hand - creepy, yet still comforting.  “I told you I’m here to help, didn’t I?” 

“What if I hadn’t helped your cousin?” Dean demands. 

“Oh you’d already be a meatslab, like hours ago.”  The words are spoken in such a matter-of-fact tone, that the reaper could be talking about a piece of steak thrown on the grill and already served for dinner. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean yelps. 

The reaper’s cowl turns up, and there’s another flash of jawbone, this time with a hint of teeth.  “Do I look like a comedian to you?”  

Yeah, nothing about this scenario is funny.  At all.  Dean rolls his eyes and waves away the question, even though he knows it’s rhetorical.  “Well thanks, I guess,” he grumbles, because he can be gracious.  Sort of.  “So now what?” 

The reaper cocks a thumb over its shoulder at Dean’s comatose body.  “You gotta jump back in there buddy.” 

Dean glances at his body, then raises an eyebrow at the reaper.  “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

It sounds far too simple, but the reaper would elaborate if he needed to do more, right?  “So I just hop back on the bed and lie down?” 

“Yup.” 

Dean casts a glance at the door where his brother, father, and the doctor are still talking in hushed voices.  The doctor is giving them some spiel about blood pressure, and body temperature, warding sigils and magical stasis fields, and doing everything they can, blah blah blah.  Apparently it’s all bullshit, but he’s not too surprised.  With or without magic, healing is a tricky business. 

And the doctor is right.  He’s going to have to do some of the work himself.  He turns away from the door and faces the bed.  It’s weird as fuck to look down at his own body.  At the moment it looks like he’s just sleeping, but standing this close, Dean can feel the unnatural chill emanating from himself.   

A shiver runs through him when he remembers the bitter chill that gripped him.  He thinks that might have been what chased him out in the first place.   

Hesitantly, he reaches out but stops just inches from touching himself.  “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says hoarsely. 

The reaper strokes his shoulder again.  “It’s going to suck balls, I’m sure.” 

Dean snorts a laugh.  “Your bedside manner sucks balls.” 

“Good thing you’re into balls, huh?” The reaper snipes back.  There’s no way to see its expression, but there’s laughter in its voice. 

“Fuck you, I’m straight.” 

“Says the guy mated to an _Incubus_ ,” the reaper points out.  “Last I checked, those are the _boy_ demons.” 

Dean glares at the reaper, but can’t really argue the point.  Although there’s a shrill voice in the back of his mind screaming _MATED???_   _WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?_  But he ignores it for now because he’s got bigger issues to deal with.  The life or death kind.  Way more important at the moment. 

“C’mon, Dean-o.  Time’s a’wastin’.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Good thing you like-” 

Dean cuts the reaper off.  “Yeah, yeah, I got it!” 

The reaper chuckles.  Then it starts.  “Oh, I almost forgot!”  It reaches into its robes and pulls out what looks like a long feather.  It’s almost the length of Dean’s forearm, and is a glossy black.  At least he thinks it’s black.  The color shifts oddly, and there are pinpricks of light moving through the soft barbs.  

Dean takes the feather when the reaper hands it to him.  It’s deliciously warm against his skin.  “What is this?” 

“It’s a feather.  Damn, are all humans as bright as you are?” 

“I get that it’s a feather, dickwad,” Dean snaps.  “Why are you giving it to me?” 

But even as he asks the question, he knows the answer.  He lifts it to his nose and inhales the heady sweetness of honey and cloves.  He closes his eyes and let’s the scent fill him with warmth.  The heat spreads through his body, and an ache he hadn’t been aware of begins to ease inside him. 

“You need to keep it with you, Dean,” the reaper answers.  “Otherwise, you’ll end up back here, and I’m only doing you one favor.  We can only strike your name from The List once.  Do you understand?” 

Dean nods.  He brushes the feather over his lips for a moment.  Even through his anger about the whole mating thing, the tickle of the feather against his skin is soothing.  He finds himself wishing Cas were here, and not just so he can give the demon a piece of his mind and demand that he undo the blood bond.  

If that’s even possible.  Dammit, he really got himself into a fucking mess.  He silently vows he’s giving up alcohol for good. 

“Alright, let’s do this,” he says after a moment.   

He isn’t sure exactly how he’s going to keep the feather with him since as far as he knows it’s just a wisp of spirit energy in this halfway place where his soul is hovering over his corporeal body.  He holds the shaft in his palm upside down so the feather lies along his forearm, the end of it tickling the inside of his elbow.  A tiny shiver of arousal runs through him, and he rolls his eyes at himself, but otherwise ignores it and moves closer to the bed his body is lying on. 

Instead of grabbing his own hand like he’d done before, Dean decides to just jump right in like he would do if he were getting ready to enter a cold pool.  He braces his hands on the side of the bed and hops over the rail, letting himself fall down onto his own body. 

When the cold embraces him again, he sits up and screams around the tube in his throat.  He’s only vaguely aware of the high pitched beeping of the heart monitor and the people who rush back into the room to push him back down on the bed.   

The last thing he hears before he loses consciousness again is the reaper’s raspy voice.  “Stay put, Dean-o.  It’ll get better, but you’ve gotta stay put.  And hang onto that feather!” 

Dean grips his fist tight, holding on to the tiny bit of warmth as his whole existence is consumed by ice. 

Time loses meaning as he fights against the cold.  He wants to flee from it, but a voice whispering _stay stay stay_ keeps him in place.   

Slowly, glacially, the ice begins to retreat.  Numbness overtakes his senses, only to be replaced by prickling pain throughout his limbs and torso.  Eventually that begins to ease as well. 

When his eyes eventually blink open, he stares uncomprehending at the unfamiliar tiled ceiling for several long minutes.  An eery sense of deja vu settles over him when he realizes that’s not the ceiling in his bedroom.  He shifts, turning his head on his pillow and takes in the wall of windows to his left.  

Just next to the bed there’s a chair, and Sam’s large frame is sprawled in it in a very uncomfortable looking position.  His head is leaned back on his shoulders, his mouth open, and he’s snoring.   

“Sammy?” 

Sam jerks awake when he hear’s Dean’s croak.  He scrambles to his feet and leans over Dean, fearful hope widening his eyes.  “Dean?” 

Dean licks his lips, although it does nothing to wet them because his tongue feels like sandpaper.  His brow crinkles as an image of himself with a tube shoved down his throat passes through his memory.   

Sam reaches for something and comes back with a plastic cup filled with what Dean desperately hopes is water.  He presses it to Dean’s lips, and smiles encouragingly when Dean begins to gulp the contents down.   

The water is tepid, but still tastes like a bottle of expensive French spring water as far as Dean is concerned.  And the idea of drinking something cold right now makes his gut clench with fear.

When the cup is empty, Sam sets it aside.  “Man, I am so glad you’re awake, Dean.” 

“What happened?” Dean’s voice sounds much stronger now that he’s not trying to speak through all the dry sand that felt like it was stuck in his throat.  

Sam’s face crumbles, and it takes a moment for him to calm down enough to speak.  On instinct, Dean reaches up to touch him and offer comfort.  Sam grabs Dean’s hand and kisses it before pressing it back down to the bed, the fuckin’ sap.  But he gets ahold of himself and puts on a reassuring smile.  “You almost died.  That demon nearly killed you.” 

“Cas?”  Dean’s face scrunches up in confusion.  “No way, Sam.  He wouldn’t hurt me.” 

He knows it without a doubt, although he’s not sure why.  A memory floats just beyond his reach, and he scratches at it, trying to pull it to the surface. 

_Blood bond._

_Mates._  

He blinks, and shakes his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.   

“It’s true,” Sam grits out angrily.  “And I’m gonna find that demon and I’m going to waste him.” 

Dean snorts.  First of all, demons are so hard to kill that no one ever really tries.  Second of all, Sam is not a Warlock, and while he can do a few of the things Dean can, he’s not very good at it.   

Before he can point these facts out to his brother, his thoughts are interrupted by John entering the room.  The coffee cup drops out of his hand, splashing all over the floor and his shoes, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he rushes to the side of the bed.  “Dean!  Thank god, you’re awake.” 

A grin spreads over Dean’s face when John leans over the bed and embraces him.  His dad is kind of a dick, and is gone more often than not, but it’s obvious by the care in his touch that he’d been extremely worried.  Dean knows his dad loves him, but it’s nice to get a little physical confirmation.  “Hey, dad.” 

“I knew you’d pull through,” John says against his ear. 

A million questions are on the tip of Dean’s tongue.  Pull through what?  Why the hell is he in a hospital?  More importantly, when can he go home? 

 _Where’s Cas?_  

He’s too tired to voice any of them at the moment.  He nods against his dad’s shoulder, and lets himself be held.  It’s not quite the same as when Cas holds him, but for now it’s close enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thanks for all the well wishes, they meant a lot. The last two weeks have been the most miserable of my _entire life_ but I am definitely getting better. Now I just have to survive without being able to chew solid foods for the next month, WEE :D
> 
> This chapter had a bit of a time jump, so sorry if that's weird. I'll go into more detail about it in the next chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

The wind rustles the leaves of the tree branches outside Dean’s window, and he watches them wave back and forth silently, wondering if it’s as warm outside as it looks.  His body craves heat, and part of him wants to go outside and lay naked on the sidewalk and soak up the sun, even if it means his pale ass ends up with a sunburn.   

It’d fade into freckles eventually.  Just what he needs.  A freckled ass instead of a pale one. 

 _A finger brushes over the bridge of Dean’s nose.  “Freckles.  Do you know what that means, human?”_  

The aching cold deep in Dean’s bones recedes a little at the memory, and for a moment he closes his eyes and indulges.  

 _“It means,” Cas presses a kiss to his cheek, “you are so beautiful,” then the other cheek, “that the Sun cannot resist you.”  He kisses the tip of Dean’s nose, which is weird, but fuck if he doesn’t like it anyway.  “It has left the mark of its kisses all over your skin.”_  

He rubs a thumb over the inside of his forearm, stretching and bunching the skin.  He doesn’t look down at the shimmering pattern there.  Instead he focuses on the memory.  Each one of Cas’ kisses burned into his skin.  Every touch of his tongue was a lick of flame. 

Dean misses feeling warm.  Yearns for it.  For Cas, although most of the time he tries not to admit that to himself.   

His heart thumps painfully, and he digs his thumb in more, probably bruising the flesh of his forearm, but he doesn’t feel the pain.  Only the warmth of the shimmering feather shaped mark burned into his skin.  It’s the only place on his body that isn’t icy cold all the time, and he can’t make himself stop touching it.   

The doctors had started out keeping it bandaged, but he’d claw at it, sometimes tearing through the cloth and then into his own skin.  Sam and John would freak out and call in the nurses, and they’d have to hold him down while the nurses replaced the bloody bandages.  That lasted less than 24 hours, and they finally gave up and stopped wrapping his arm.  The scratches healed quickly, leaving the skin unscarred and the mark undamaged. 

He doesn’t remember that very well because he spent a little over a week slipping in and out of consciousness after his near death experience (Sam’s words, not Dean’s; the whole thing is a blur of freezing cold and excruciating pain in Dean’s memory), but he does remember waking to the sound of his father arguing with healers about how to get the mark removed.  They had been reluctant to do so, despite John’s blustering threats.  The mark was obviously magical in origin, and they could tell that something about it was keeping Dean stabilized when spells and modern medicine failed to do so. 

Eventually those arguments ceased, because Dean’s health was slowly but surely improving.  John may be a stubborn dick most of the time, but even he knew when it was best to let go of an argument he wouldn’t win.  Not when the evidence all pointed at the mark being the sole reason Dean was still living and breathing. 

Dean feels like every breath should fog up because the room feels so cold, but he knows from the flush under everyone’s skin who comes in to see him that the ambient temperature is on the high end of hot instead of the meatlocker he feels like he’s living in.     

“You ready to get out of here?” 

Dean turns his attention from the trees outside the windows to see his dad standing in the doorway.  He jerks his hand away from the mark on his arm, but the motion only brings John’s attention to the mark.  His expression darkens, but he doesn’t say anything.  This time. 

“Paperwork’s done.  Just waiting for Sam to grab what he needs to portal us out of here.”  John comes the rest of the way in the room and reaches out to clap a hand on Dean’s shoulder.  He stops short, his fingers curling in, when Dean flinches away from him.   

If the room feels like a meatlocker, being touched, even through his clothing, feels like being touched by frozen steel.  Any time someone touches him Dean is shocked that they don’t get stuck like a wet tongue to a frozen flagpole.   

Dean shifts and pulls the thick robe the hospital had provided him closer around his neck.  “Is a portal necessary?” 

He trusts portals only marginally more than he trusts airplanes, but Sam and John refuse to allow him outside of warded walls.  Hospitals are warded against most supernatural creatures, including demons, and from what Dean has overheard in snippets of hushed conversation while they thought he was sleeping, Uncle Bobby and Grandpa Henry put up similar wards in Dean’s apartment, and anywhere else they think he might spend time in the foreseeable future.   

Dean thinks they’re being ridiculously paranoid.  He doubts Cas is going to pop in suddenly and eat him like everyone else seems to assume he will.  But he doesn’t argue too hard, because Cas _has_ been eating him.  Slowly siphoning away Dean’s soul, one orgasm at a time. 

One of the times Dean had woken and been lucid enough for the conversation, Sam had explained to him why exactly he was in the hospital.  He’d brandished a thick book - _Dean’s_ book; where the fuck had he found it? - and had lectured Dean on the dangers of sex demons. 

Succubi and Incubi both feed on the sexual energy of their partners.  Energy which is directly linked to the soul.  So what Dean had thought were flu symptoms, were actually signs of soul fatigue as Sam had very logically pointed out before he’d roofied Dean. 

Dean had listened to Sam’s lecture in silence.  He understood the theory that he should be pissed at Cas for basically draining him dry, but every time the rage started boiling up in his chest, he would would remember all the tender touches and the sweet kisses Cas had liberally spread over his body.  He would remember the gentle concern shining in the blue glow of Cas’ eyes as he fed Dean, and made him drink.  How every time Dean showed any sign of illness, Cas’ whole body vibrated with urgency. 

Cas didn’t want to hurt him. 

Dean knows the truth of that as much as he knows that the feather shaped mark burned into his skin was a gift from Cas to get him through the worst of the venom withdrawal.   

He didn’t tell John or Sam that though.  They wouldn’t believe him. 

John’s eyes narrow, and Dean realizes he’s been waiting for a response for an unusually long time.  “Yeah,” he croaks.  His voice has been deeper and hoarser recently.  Probably damaged from the cold.  “It’ll be nice to get home.” 

The words feel hollow.  He doesn’t actually care.  He just wants to get outside the wards so he can… talk, to Cas.  Just talk. 

Maybe a little bit of yelling.  If he has the energy for it. 

John smiles, although it doesn’t completely reach his eyes.  “Yeah, son.  It’ll be good.” 

The awkward moment is broken when Sam comes in with the doctor.  There’s a bounce in his step and in his hair, the need to tease his brother about haircare bubbles up inside Dean, which is so normal compared to everything else he feels that Dean smiles. 

The temperature in the room seems to go up by a few degrees, and the mark on Dean’s arm throbs, spreading warmth into his bloodstream.  Muscles in Dean’s back relax, and a slight trembling he hadn’t been aware of calms. 

“Okay, I’m ready when you are!” Sam says with what seems like genuine enthusiasm, even if his smile seems a bit strained.  He’s been at the hospital every day, and looks almost as exhausted as Dean feels.   

Doctor Pamela Barnes walks past him, and John moves out of her way so she can stand in front of Dean’s wheelchair while she speaks to him.  He’s walked around the hospital a bit in the last few days, but he’s still wobbly.  They’d given him the chair when he’d refused to sit in the damn bed 24/7, and honestly everyone is just relieved that he is moving around at all. 

“So, Dean.  Are you ready to go home?”  Doc Barnes grins at him from behind a pair of dark sunglasses.  She’s physically blind, but from conversations he’s had with her over the past few weeks, he’s learned that she has a touch of magic which allows her to “see”.  If she hadn’t pulled off the glasses and showed him the white plastic orbs that fill her normally empty eye sockets, he wouldn’t have believed her.   

Dean is not ready to go home.  Not at all.  There are too many things about his apartment he doesn’t really want to think about.  Sam says that Uncle Bobby and Grandpa Henry had gone through it with a fine toothed comb and removed any evidence that Cas had been there, but they can’t remove his memories. 

But the alternative is to stay with Bobby, or stay at the Men of Letter’s bunker, since John doesn’t have a permanent residence and Sam and Adam are both living in school dorms.  Aunt Ellen offered her home as well, but just like the other options, that isn’t going to happen.  Dean needs to be in his own space.  The sooner he can get back into his own routine and get his family off his back and no longer watching his every move, the better.  All the attention is getting on his nerves.   

And he has something he needs to do. 

His hand goes back to his forearm, and he rubs absently at the mark. 

“Hell yeah, I’m ready,” he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.  “No offense, Doc, y’all have been great, but I’m about ready to climb the walls here.” 

The doctor smiles and nods.  Her eyes twinkle with humor.  “Trust me, I understand.  We’re just as glad to get rid of you.” 

Dean laughs, and once again he feels a little warmer inside.  The feather on his arm throbs with heat.  It always seems to do that whenever he feels happy, which is weird as fuck, but he’s not going to question it right now.  “Can’t blame you, Doc.  I wouldn’t want to be subject to this ugly mug all the time either.” 

She snorts at flirting, but her smile only widens.  Pulling out her clipboard, she flips a few pages and scans it.  “Well, today’s the day we end each other’s misery.  I’m sending you home with some medications and some potions, and I’ve set you up for some follow up appointments.”  She looks up at him from under her brow.  “And you _will_ show up for those, do you understand?” 

She’d copped to his stubborn attitude immediately, and he admired her for not putting up with his shit.  He would show up, because she was kind of scary and the last thing he wanted to do was get on the healer’s bad side.  “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good.  Then you can get the hell out of my hospital Mr. Winchester.”  She lowers her clipboard and looks around at Sam and John, giving them a warm smile as well.  “All three of you.” 

Sam laughs, and John nods and gives another of his not-quite-smiles.  Doctor Barnes hands Sam a sheaf of papers, and leaves the room with a quiet goodbye. 

Normally a nurse would show up to wheel Dean out of the hospital, but they’re taking the express route home.  John moves Dean’s chair out of the way, and Sam steps close to them.  They probably should move to a more open space for what he’s about to do, but the room is just big enough for Sam’s needs.  He does his little invisible storage trick and pulls a wand out of thin air, along with a stone tablet inscribed with runes.   

A few muttered words, and a tap of his wand against the stone, and the room begins to vibrate with Sam’s familiar power.  It buzzes unpleasantly in Dean’s molars, and he grits them together.  No matter how often he’s experienced Sam’s spell casting up close, the different energies he uses compared to Dean’s always sends a weird frisson of discomfort through him.  He’s mostly used to it, since he gets the same feeling around all mages, including John.  They probably feel something similar when Dean uses his own magic, although he’s never asked.   

The intensity of the buzzing increases, filling the room with pressure and tension.  Just when Dean begins to feel like his ears might pop, a vertical sliver of light slightly taller than Sam splits the air.  It begins to widen almost immediately, the edges spinning around so it looks like a whirlpool with a view of Dean’s living room at the center.   

Dean shivers and doesn’t bother to conceal his uneasiness.  Portal magic is weird and unnatural, and even though it’s said to be safer than airplanes, he still doesn’t like it.   

But the sight of his living room is incredibly inviting, and suddenly there is nowhere else he wants to be.   

Before he can start to struggle with getting to his feet, John gets a hand under his elbow.  Dean hisses as the tiny bit of warmth he’d managed to gather within himself immediately drains out of him where John is touching him.  But he doesn’t try to jerk away, and allows John to help him to his feet because he knows he needs the assistance. 

“Sorry, kid.  Let’s get you through quick, okay?”  John’s voice is gentle and soothing and despite the chill spreading out from his hand, Dean’ leans into his touch, grateful for his help. 

They cross through the portal in a few short steps, Dean grinding his teeth together when the buzz in his molars ratchets up slightly.  The one thing that portals have over airplanes, is the travel time is only a matter of seconds, versus hours.  He can at least appreciate that.  Barely. 

John releases his arm, and Dean shuffles away from him toward his couch.  He manages not to stumble even when his whole being feels like it lurches when he remembers everything he and Cas had done on that couch.  Unfortunately, the spasm doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“You okay?” Sam asks.  He’s already through the portal, and it’s closing behind him, when Dean makes it to the couch and drops down on it.  His worried puppy dog face is back, but at least it isn’t cranked up to eleven like it has been for the past few weeks during Dean’s recovery. 

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean responds, his voice low and tired.  Walking across the room seems to have taken all his energy.  “Just cold.” 

He’s starting to think he’ll be cold forever.   

John immediately heads for the thermostat and turns it up a little.  “Your gas bill is going to be atrocious.” 

Dean gives up on staying upright and lays down on the couch.  “I can afford it.” 

As he settles down, the scent of honey and cloves and sex wafts up from the couch cushions, and he goes still, breathing it in.  He knows Bobby and Henry cleaned the fuck out of his apartment because he can smell the cleaning products and sense the lingering magic they used to cleanse the place, but somehow Cas’ pheromones still cling to the fabric.  Dean resists the urge to bury his face in the cushion and breathe in, even though the scent is obviously stale from the passage of time.  If John and Sam figure out that the place isn’t perfectly sterilized of Cas’ presence, they’ll bundle him back through a portal to Bobby’s, or Ellen’s, or Grandpa Henry’s. 

And he can’t… he takes a shallow breath through his nose and holds it for a few seconds.  He can’t let them pull him away from it.  Not again. 

The mark on his arm throbs, and heat spreads from his forearm up into his shoulder.  He can’t quite suppress a moan.  

“Dean, what’s wrong?” John quickly crouches down by the couch.  He forgets himself, and touches Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean hisses and jerks away, then feels guilty at the stricken look on his dad’s face.  It disappears quickly behind John’s typical stoic mask, but not quick enough for Dean to miss it.  He sighs and sits back up.  “Nothing’s wrong, dad.  I’m just really glad to be back home.” 

John presses his lips together in a tight smile and nods before standing back up.  “Alright, well now that you’re settled, I’m going to get going.  I’ve got a hunt lined up.”  He turns to give Sam a meaningful look.  “Sam, you’ll stay and watch after your brother, right?” 

Sam takes a moment to answer, and he doesn’t look happy when he does.  “Yeah, dad.  No problem.” 

Okay, Dean may still be a bit out of it because he nearly died, and this whole going cold turkey thing sucks ass, but he’s not an idiot.  “A hunt, huh?  What’re you after?” 

John shrugs, too casual.  “Oh you know… just a salt and burn.” 

Yeah, right.  Salt and burn hunts are for newbies.  Dean narrows his eyes.  “Do not go after Cas,” he warns.  It probably doesn’t sound very intimidating since he’s still sprawled on his couch, but he’s Dean Fucking Winchester, and he knows he comes from a long line of badass.  He puts every ounce of that confidence in his words.  “I told you I don’t want you hunting him.” 

It’s an argument he’s had with John several times during his recovery, starting when he was lucid enough for John to start questioning him about the demon that nearly killed him.  Somehow, even when he’s been completely out of his gourd, Dean has managed to keep from admitting that he knows Cas’ True Name.  If he lets that slip, John will use it.  John may not be a Warlock, but with a True Name, he can still summon a demon and fuck it up.   

He’d had the same arguments with Sam, but he’s pretty sure he’s convinced his brother not to go off on a hunt that could get him killed.  Dean knows that Cas is not going to be happy with Sam for banishing him.   

John glares right back.  “And I told you that I won’t let that monster get away with what it’s done to you.” 

“You can’t kill him,” Dean snaps.  “Or you might kill me.” 

That was another excerpt from Dean’s textbook.  Studies found that humans that have a blood bond with a sex demon might be freed from it by destroying the demon, but in half of the documented cases, the human also died.   

John’s chest heaves, and he looks like he wants to argue further.  But a fifty-fifty chance of losing his eldest son, along with the fact that he may not even be able to kill Cas anyway is enough to keep him quiet on the subject. 

Sam breaks into the silence.  “It’s not like we can summon him without his Name, anyway.  And we can't just go summoning any incubus out there randomly and hope the right one shows up.  So we just need to focus on getting Dean healthy again, and keeping him warded.” 

John huffs out a sigh, and he nods.  “Yeah, I know.  But I don’t like it.” 

 _Tough shit,_ Dean thinks.  He’s too tired to argue any further though so he does his best to keep his expression neutral.   

He allows John to fuss over him some more, but when his dad finally takes his leave, Dean is relieved.  And ready for more sleep.  Man, he can’t wait until he regains enough energy to stay awake for more than four or five hours at a time. 

He has just enough energy to take a shower, and to wolf down the grilled cheese sandwich Sam makes him.  He’s nearly asleep on his feet as Sam guides him into his bedroom to take a nap. 

The room has been rearranged since Dean was last home.  His bed is no longer pushed up against the wall, but is centered under the window again, just like it was before Dean first summoned Cas.  There are new wards traced into the walls, but otherwise the room is spotless, and Dean’s nose tingles at the lingering scent of cleaning products and cleansing magic.  The sheets and blanket on the bed look brand new, and when he sinks onto the mattress (mmm blessed memory foam), he realizes that all traces of Cas are gone. 

It makes him want to shuffle back out to sleep on the couch, but he doesn’t want to rouse Sam’s suspicions. 

“I’m going to just hang out in the other room and do some homework,” Sam says as he pulls the blanket up over Dean’s prone body.   

Guilt makes Dean grimace, even as sleep tugs at the edges of his mind.  “Sorry for fucking up your class schedules, man.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, but his lips are turned up in a fond smile.  “Don’t worry about it.  You know I’m a genius.  I’ll be fine.” 

“Damn right you are,” Dean murmurs as he sinks deeper into the bed.  “Your Sam Fucking Winchester.” 

“Hell yeah,” Sam agrees with a soft laugh.   

He straightens up and moves to leave, but Dean snakes a hand out from under the blankets and grabs his wrist.  His grip is weak, and the touch of skin on skin feels like it’s going to give him frostbite but he doesn’t let go.  Sam stops and looks at Dean in question. 

“Sam,” Dean starts urgently.  “Don’t let dad hunt Cas.” 

“Dean-” 

“Please, Sam.”  Dean knows John isn’t going to listen to him.  “He may not kill Cas, but he’s going to do something, and I can’t let him do that.” 

“Dean, I don’t know why you’re so insistent on protecting _Cas,_ ” he says the name like it’s a vulgar word that he disapproves of.  “He nearly killed you, and-” 

“He didn’t mean to.”  Dean knows.  He _knows._  

Sam sighs and settles onto the edge of the bed.  “You should hate him, you know.” 

“Probably.”  Dean let’s go of Sam’s wrist, and pulls his hand under the blanket where he balls it up and tries to will the icy chill to recede from his fingers.  “And don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed as hell at him.  But I don’t hate him.” 

“Tell me why.  Tell me why you don’t hate him, so I can understand.”   

Ugh, Dean really doesn’t want to have this conversation.  He’s tired, he’s cold, and he’s not a touchy-feely kind of guy even on his best days.  “Why can’t you just trust me, Sam?” 

“I do trust you.  I don’t trust what he’s done to you.” 

Dean glares at Sam who glares right back.  Stubborn kid.  With a sigh, Dean relents.  “Fine.” 

Sam waits expectantly. 

Fuck, he’s really going to do this.  But not while lying in bed like a four year old while Sam sits over him like a helicopter parent.  He shifts and pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard.  He tugs the blanket up around his shoulders, which doesn’t really help him look like a functioning adult, but he can feel the cold shivers trying to overtake him again and he’s not going to let even an ounce of body heat escape.  Thankfully Sam doesn’t try to help him.  Unlike John, Sam remembers how painful it is for Dean to be touched. 

Shifting around gives him a few minutes to gather his thoughts.  He grimaces, as he starts trying to form them into words.   

“I don’t think Cas was purposely trying to hurt me.  I think it was an accident.” 

Sam looks like he wants to object, but he keeps silent and waits for Dean to continue. 

Dean keeps his eyes trained on the far wall, unable to look at Sam and confess his thoughts at the same time.  “I think he… cared… about me.” When Sam snorts, Dean shoots him a quick glare before turning his attention back to the wall.  “You didn’t see how he was, Sam.  He was always feeding me, and making sure I was comfortable.  When I started getting sick, he was torn up about it, and started mother henning me worse than anything you’ve ever seen from Aunt Ellen.” 

This time Sam’s snort is closer to a disbelieving laugh.  Dean’s lips tick up in an answering smile. 

“When we were on that hunt in Whitefish, I had this dream,” Dean continues.  “At least I thought it was a dream at the time, but now I’m beginning to think it wasn’t.”  Under the blanket, his hand goes to his forearm and he starts rubbing the feather mark.  “He was asking someone for help, trying to figure out what was wrong with me.  They kept talking about feeding me.” 

“What makes you think it wasn’t a dream?” Sam asks. 

Dean lifts one shoulder in a shrug.  “I don’t know, I just… feel like it wasn’t.” 

“Okaaay.”  Sam obviously isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t argue, which Dean appreciates. 

Rubbing the mark on his arm makes more warmth blossom under the skin, and as Dean pets it, he imagines he can also feel the silky texture of the feather’s barbs.  He let’s the blanket fall down enough to reveal it to Sam’s eyes.  He knows from what the doctor told him that it appeared when he woke up the first time from his coma.  His memories of the reaper are vague and shadowy, and just like the dream he had of Cas talking to someone about his strange illness, Dean isn’t completely sure that the reaper isn’t a figment of his imagination.  But where else would the mark come from? 

“And there’s this,” he says softly.  He and Sam both look down at the mark.  It goes from just inside his elbow all the way to his wrist where it narrows down.  The shaft of the feather mark ends in the middle of Dean’s palm.  It’s a shimmery blue-black depending on the angle the light hits it.  “I think Cas gave it to me to keep me alive.” 

“That’s impossible,” Sam argues.  “That hospital is warded against demons.  There’s no way an incubus could have gotten in there.” 

Dean shakes his head.  “He wasn’t there.  It was the reaper-” 

“Reaper?” Sam squeaks.  “You met a reaper in the hospital?”  He rubs both hands over his face and mumbles through them.  “Jesus Christ, we knew it was bad, but… damn, a reaper?” 

Despite the chill that infuses him every time he touches someone, Dean reaches out and rubs a palm over Sam’s knee.  “It’s okay, Sammy.  It wasn’t there to take me.  I’m here.  I’m alive.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

The tremble in Sam’s voice makes Dean’s heart ache worse than the cold that’s been clinging to him since he woke up in the hospital.  “I didn’t want you to freak out.  Y’know, like you’re doing right now?” 

Sam chuckles, and tension drains out of his shoulders.  “Okay, yeah.  I get it.”  He takes a deep breath, and visibly pulls himself together.  “So… the reaper gave you the feather?  But you think it came from Cas?” 

“It said I had to keep it with me to stay alive.” 

“That doesn’t mean it came from Cas,” Sam points out. 

“Yeah, I know that, but-” Dean sighs.  It’s hard to explain why he thinks it came from the demon.  He doesn’t really have any proof.  Cas told him once that his true form has wings, but Dean has never seen them, and he has no way of knowing if this is one of his feathers.  “I can feel him,” he finally says after a moment.  “When I touch the mark, I can feel Cas.” 

He looks up to find Sam glaring at him.  “That’s kind of freaking me out more than the reaper story, Dean.” 

“Look, I’m suffering from withdrawal, right?  Maybe Cas knew that I needed a piece of him to get through it, and he sent the reaper to give me a feather since he couldn’t get close enough to do anything else.”  Dean knows it’s a flimsy argument.  But his gut tells him it’s true.  He pours every ounce of conviction into his expression, and mentally crosses his fingers and hopes that Sam will believe him. 

Sam looks at him for a long time before his eyes drop to the mark on Dean’s arm.  Worry bunches his brows together, and he chews nervously at his bottom lip.  But after a moment, he nods.  He grabs the edge of the comforter and pulls it back up over Dean, tucking it around his shoulders.  “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Sam nods again.  “I’ll make sure dad doesn’t hunt Cas.  I won’t hunt him either.  But only on one condition.” 

The One Condition clause always sucks.  Dean braces himself and asks.  “What condition?” 

“You stay away from Cas,” Sam says once he’s satisfied that Dean is completely wrapped up again.  “No summoning him, ever again.  And you’ll keep yourself warded so he can’t find you.” 

The thought of never seeing Cas again makes all the warmth Dean has managed to build up inside himself immediately drain away.  He doesn’t want to see Cas anytime soon, because he wasn’t kidding when he told Sam he’s angry.  When he remembers the bite marks on his skin, and the sweet coppery taste of Cas’ blood on his own tongue, he nearly goes cross-eyed with rage.   

He can’t fucking believe he’s fucking _blood bonded_ to a fucking _demon._  

But never again? 

His fingers dig into the feather mark on his arm, and he goes lightheaded until he realizes he isn’t breathing.  He sucks in a deep breath, let’s it out, and does it again.  He can feel the weight of Sam’s gaze, and he forces himself to meet it. 

“Alright.  I promise.” 

Sam’s expression relaxes.  “Thank you.” 

Dean nods.  Under the comforter, he keeps his fingers crossed until Sam finally leaves the room.  Guilt eats at him for lying to his brother.  But he can’t promise to never see Cas again.  Not yet. 

The exhaustion that had been held at bay by Dean’s worry about John going out and hunting Cas finally slams into him full force again.  He sinks down into his pillows, and falls into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Cas sooooon. Well, next chapter anyway. Whenever that happens :)


	18. Chapter 18

Nine days.  Nine days of never being alone.  If it’s not Sam, it’s Bobby.  If it’s not Bobby, it’s Adam.  If it’s not Adam, it’s Charlie, or Benny, Ellen and Jo, or Grandpa Henry.  Everyone takes a turn keeping an eye on him, making sure he _stays comfortable._  Which, okay yeah being locked away in his own apartment would be a hell of a lot worse without the company.  And it’s nice spending time with his friends and family, even if the fact that they can’t touch him makes things a little awkward at times. 

But as much as he enjoys their company, he’s fully aware that he is practically being held prisoner.  Even though he doesn’t give anyone so much as a hint of what he’s planning, he can see it in their eyes that they know.   

They know he’s an addict jonesing for a hit, and this is their intervention. 

He loves them for it.  And he’s even grateful, to an extent.   

But he needs to see Cas. 

The kicker is that he’s not sure what his reasons are.  Does he want to get a fix, like a junkie praying for a bump?  Just enough to make the itch go away for a few minutes, or if he’s lucky, several hours?  Or does he actually miss Cas? 

He thinks he _does_ miss Cas.  They were only together for a matter of days, but Dean misses his intense stares, and his teasing.  He misses cuddling with him while watching cooking shows, or sniping at him until he hands the fork over and lets Dean feed himself.   

But did he really enjoy those things, or was it the venom making him want to be in Cas’ presence? 

These thoughts swirl round and round in his head, and he often times finds himself zoning out in the middle of conversations.  Only coming back to himself when whoever he’s with gives up on calling his name and touches him.   

The zing of iciness fades faster now each time like Doctor Barnes had told him it probably would.  Eventually it should stop completely, although she didn’t look very confident when he’d asked her if he would ever feel warm again.  She’d smiled, and even though she had no eyes, he could tell that it wouldn’t have reached them.   

 _“Buck up, Dean.  You can always move to Arizona.”_  

An involuntary shiver makes his shoulders twitch and his youngest brother Adam, whose turn it is to babysit on the ninth day gives him a cautious side eye.  “You okay, Dean?” 

Dean sighs, envious that Adam is comfortable in a t-shirt and shorts, while he’s bundled up in layers and buried in two blankets.  “I’m fine, kiddo.”

Adam eyes him for a moment before turning back to the tv.  They’re watching a Mythbusters marathon, and they’ve both seen the episode a million times, but it never gets old. 

A few episodes later, Grant is doing some kind of technomancer spellwork to make Buster move around like a human for their current experiment (something Dean isn’t quite convinced is real magic, but hey, whatever) when Dean looks over to Adam to make a snarky comment and finds his little brother fast asleep.  The kid is still somehow sitting straight up, but his eyes are closed, his lips parted, and his breath comes slow and even. 

Dean chuckles.  Man, put some sunglasses on, and the kid has the perfect posture for taking naps in class.  He’s a little jealous of the skill. 

Very gently, Dean reaches over and nudges Adam until he sinks sideways on the couch.  The shock of cold that jumps from the tips of his fingers up to his elbow is muted, although still uncomfortable.  But now that it’s at a tolerable level, Dean refuses to let the weird malady keep him from doing something as simple as tucking his brother in for a nap. 

Adam blinks sleepily as he settles down into the cushions.  “I’m awake,” he mumbles. 

“It’s cool, kiddo.  Take a nap.”  Dean suppresses the urge to sink down into the cushions himself.  Cas’ scent has nearly faded, and he wants to relish every molecule of it.  But he’s not that pathetic. 

Okay, he is, but he also has other plans. 

Waiting until Adam is zonked out takes the longest thirty minutes of Dean’s entire life.  The kid keeps doing the sleepy blink thing for _ever_ and Dean was starting to wonder how hard a sleeping spell would be to cast when Adam’s eyelids settle closed, and he lets out a soft snore. 

When he’s sure Adam’s finally out, Dean carefully eases himself off the couch, moving slowly so as not to jostle his sleeping brother too much.  Adam is a pretty deep sleeper, but Dean has been waiting for this opportunity for so long now that he’s not going to fuck it up by trusting that.  The one time he needs Adam to sleep like a dead person would be the time a sneeze wakes him up, because that’s the kind of luck Dean expects right now. 

The thought actually makes Dean’s nose begin to itch, and he grits his teeth against the urge.   

Taking each step slowly and as quietly as possible, Dean edges toward the door.  He twists the deadbolt knob, wincing when it disengages because the click feels loud as a gunshot, but Adam stays dead to the world until Dean opens the door.  He snuffles, and rolls to face the back of the couch while Dean freezes, breathing shallow and waiting to see if he’ll pop up and shout boo or something else ridiculous when he catches Dean sneaking out of the apartment. 

But Adam only settles in more comfortably and goes quiet. 

Dean slips through the door, pulls it shut, and huffs out the breath he’d been holding.

Freedom. 

Thank fucking god. 

He runs barefoot to the stairs, not as worried about making noise now that he’s got walls between him and his guard puppy, and takes them two at a time up to the roof.  He knows that Sam has warded the entire building, not just his apartment, but the roof is open to the sky.  Unless there are devil’s traps painted up there, it’s his best choice for non-warded privacy unless he wants to take a drive somewhere.   

The roof is trap free, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. 

He takes a moment to let the sun shine on his face.  Spring is melting into summer, and it’s hot outside.  The iciness that has been plaguing Dean since he was forced to separate from Cas recedes a little under the warm rays.   

“Dean.” 

Spinning around, Dean finds the true source of the warmth.  It’s coming from the demon standing just feet away from him.  “Cas.” 

Despite the brightness of the day, Cas’ pupils widen.  He takes a step, but stops when Dean holds up a hand in a halting gesture.  “Dean?” 

“What the fuck gave you the right?”  Dean ignores the pleading confusion in Cas’ voice.  He needs to keep his heart hardened against the demon.  He needs to know the truth.   

His whole body aches with the need to close the space between them.  To touch, and to taste.  But he only allows himself to feast with his eyes, taking in the sight of Cas like a starving man eying a banquet.  Cas’ normally swarthy skin is pale and his hair lank.  He still wears Dean’s clothing, but it seems to hang off him even more than usual.  He looks like he’s lost weight, but Dean can’t be sure that’s not just a trick since Cas can alter his shape. 

“Dean, I don’t understand what you are asking me,” Cas responds slowly, confusion written in the creases around his eyes and between his brows. 

Dean bites his molars down hard as anger threatens to bubble up in his throat and spill out words he won’t be able to take back.  “How dare you fucking _mate me_ without my goddamn _consent?_ ” 

Cas flinches, and looks down at his bare feet.  His arms hang loose at his sides, but his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out to touch.   

“Answer me, Cas.  Tell me what the fuck you were thinking!” The words come out harsh between Dean’s panting breath.  He’s so angry he wants to lash out physically.  To watch bruises bloom under his knuckles.  And yet the very idea of hurting Cas is anathema, and his stomach twists with the need to empty itself all over the concrete under his feet. 

Only the rage seems to be coming through though, because Cas shrinks away from him, taking a small step back. 

Dean fights against the urge to stop him.  To reassure him.  That is not what he wants.  He wants Cas to fear him.  To regret what he did.  To understand how wrong it was.  “Tell me, Cas.  Right fucking now.  And you’d better make it good, or I swear to god I will…” he trails off.  He doesn’t have a threat ready.  Not one that he can say without nausea overcoming him. 

“You are mine,” Cas says softly.  “I knew it as soon as I felt the tug of your magic pulling me into form in front of you.” 

“What?” The word comes out as barely a whisper, because Dean feels like he’s been punched in the chest.  He’d been expecting a snarky comeback.  Maybe something about how Dean wanted it too, because he’d succumbed to Cas’ advances despite being straight, right?  He didn’t expect three little words - _you are mine -_ spoken with such tender conviction, and he certainly didn’t expect to love hearing them as much as he does. 

“Being summoned, it is… unpleasant,” Cas continues in the same low voice.  “But the touch of your magic was more powerful than an orgasm.” His eyes, pupils still wide, flash up at Dean and there’s a hint of a smirk in his expression.  But he looks down again immediately.   

Dean doesn’t like it.  Cas has always looked him in the eye.  Has always shoved at the boundaries between them with confidence and defiance.  But now he looks as if he’s waiting for Dean to smite him.  “Cas…” 

“And when I saw you at my feet, I thought you were a gift from a supreme being.  Made for me.  For my touch and my…” he pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is flat.  “But then you rejected me, even after my teeth marked your skin, even after I fed you.  You wanted me gone.” 

“And you left.”  That first night was a jumble of alcohol soaked memories, but Dean remembers the flash of pain in Cas’ eyes before he disappeared. 

“Yes.” 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Dean feels his feet shuffle forward, closing the space that Cas had opened up between them.  “But you came back.” 

His anger boils up again when he remembers the stupid deal they made.  The Name Game.  It was all just a farce so that Cas could mate him.  And Dean fell for it, like a goddamn idiot.

Cas’ head comes up, and the blue of his irises burn brightly even if the harsh daylight. “I will always come when you call.” 

The words bounce around inside Dean’s skull.  Cas said them before, with just as much conviction.  And just like the first time, they make Dean’s heart pound.  He also remembers something else Cas said to him, shortly after that.  He repeats it now.  “Castiel.” 

Cas’ whole body jerks, and he sucks in a breath.  He sways toward Dean, but he stays in place.  Hope wars with fear in his expression. 

“Can the blood bond be undone?” Dean asks softly.  He’s not sure what answer he wants to hear. 

Despite Dean’s gentle tone, Cas flinches.  He stands his ground, and keeps his eyes on Dean’s, though.  “No.” 

That’s exactly what Dean was expecting.  “What if one of us dies?” 

Even the twitching in Cas’ fingers goes still.  His expression goes blank, but his pupils contract into tight slits.  “Yes, that would break the bond.” 

So if John found a way to kill Cas, Dean could be free.  No mate, no addiction.  Just an idiot Warlock left with a cautionary tale for scaring young apprentices away from the dangers of drinking and casting. 

He tries to imagine what that would be like.  To be able to go out to bars and flirt with women.  Or men.  Hell, now that he knows he likes one dick, he’d probably be willing to try more.  He could find himself another human.  Someone he could take out on dates, and cook for.  Maybe someone with magic who will discuss theory with him, or maybe someone ungifted who listens with feigned interest to his excitement about new spells to learn.  Maybe he’d find someone to settle down with, get a house and picket fence, two point five kids, and a dog.  Or maybe not.  He doesn’t know what the future would hold for him, but he would be free to decide. 

Well, actually.  He may be already bonded to Cas, but he still has a choice, despite the fact that he didn’t initially choose the bond.  He can keep it, or he can break it. 

It will take the power of another demon to kill Cas.  John isn’t a Warlock, but he will find a way.   

Dean won’t be the one to do it.  He can’t.  Summoning a demon and siccing it on Cas… 

His stomach clenches painfully, and the chill under his skin increases.  No.  He could never do it.  And he still won’t allow John. 

Dean sighs and wipes a hand over his face.  He fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie.  His fingers are cold, and his stomach muscles ache with fatigue from holding back shivers.  

His hand drops from his hoodie zipper to his forearm.  He can feel the heat of the feather mark through the layers of his clothing, even though the mark is fading.  It gets lighter and less iridescent every day, as if his body is consuming it.  Sam thinks that’s a good thing, but Dean has the feeling that if (when) it fades completely, his ass will end up back in the hospital trying to survive withdrawal again.   

Cas is so close, and Dean knows with complete certainty that all it will take is one of his kisses to thaw the ice coating his insides.  But if he gives in to the temptation to feed his addiction, he’ll put his soul in danger.   

So he can either go with slowly becoming colder and colder until his body gives up and stops functioning, or he can let Cas’ heat slowly burn him out.  It’ll be quicker, but far more pleasant than the first option. 

Damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. 

Sam is going to be so pissed at him. 

“Castiel.” 

Cas’ whole body sways forward as he waits for Dean to say more. 

“Get the fuck over here,” Dean demands softy.  “And fuckin’ touch me.” 

The demon is on him in a flash, arms gathering him close.  When their lips touch Dean gasps as heat envelops him.  God, he’d forgotten what it feels like to be _warm._ Cas is like a furnace, and Dean presses closer, soaking up every BTU and feeling places inside himself that he had ceased to feel begin to thaw out.   

It’s nothing compared to the heat that floods him when Cas slides his tongue past Dean’s parted lips, and the smoky-sweet venom burns against Dean’s tongue. 

His muscles go liquid, and his bones dissolve, and the only thing holding him upright is Cas’ strong arms.  Cas lowers him gently to the roof, and holy fuck Dean is going to let him do any kinky shit he wants right here out in the open with no walls to protect them from prying eyes.  Hell, anyone could come up for a smoke or a private place to chill out, and they could catch Cas fucking Dean into a sobbing mess and Dean won’t care.  Because he needs this.  Needs Cas. 

Cas’ hands are doing their best to get under Dean’s clothes, and when his palm finally slips under the layers to spread over Dean’s stomach the touch _burns._  Dean cries out against Cas’ mouth, but it’s not pain that he’s feeling but unadulterated lust.  He needs more skin contact, and he needs it fuckin’ _yesterday._  

He’d allowed himself to go limp in Cas’ arms, but now muscle memory kicks in, and he starts tugging at his clothes.  First the hoodie gets pulled off, then he pulls off both his long and short sleeved t-shirts at the same time.  He forgets how to function for a moment and gets tangled in the sleeves when Cas leans down to suck one of his newly bared nipples into his mouth. 

Dean arches his back, pressing up against the wet heat of Cas’ lips and tongue.  “Fuck yes, Cas, _fuck._ ” 

Cas’ hands smooth up and down over Dean’s ribs, leaving warmth in their wake.  One hand stops to pluck at Dean’s other nipple before sliding down to the waistband of Dean’s flannel pajama pants.  He pushes them down just enough to free Dean’s aching dick.  His fingers wrap around it, squeezing it as if to test the hardness.  Dean’s hips jerk, and his body begins to undulate as he tries to simultaneously press his chest closer to Cas’ mouth while fucking into Cas’ fist.   

“Cas,” Dean sobs.  He’s on the edge already.  “Cas I need to taste you.   _Please._ ” 

It’s pure torture for the two seconds that it takes Cas’ mouth to move from Dean’s nipple back to his mouth, but it’s worth it when venom coats his tongue again.  It soaks into him, burning him from the inside out, and finally, _finally,_ he’s not cold anymore.   

He can feel Cas’ hardness against his thigh, and he bends his knee up so he can get enough leverage to grind against it.   

Cas breaks the kiss, and presses his forehead to Dean’s.  His pupils are so wide that there is hardly any hint of blue iris.  “Dean,” he pants, filling the tiny space between their mouths with the sweet scent of his venomed breath.  “Dean.” 

“Cas,” Dean chokes out in response.   

“You’re mine,” Cas growls. 

“Yes.” 

“Say it.” 

“I’m yours.” 

Cas’ fingers tighten, and his palm turns and twists over the head of Dean’s dick, spreading precum.  Dean whines.  God, he just needs a little more… a little more… 

“ _My mate_ ,” Cas growls. 

It’s like Cas pulls a trigger with those words.  Dean’s whole body seizes, and for a split second he actually feels like he’s being seared wherever their bodies touch, and lava is being pumped through his veins.  He feels like he’s going to combust, and the flames are going to devour both of them. 

And then he’s coming, and Cas is praising him softly as he strokes Dean’s dick through each spurt of semen over his belly.   

When Dean’s muscles finally relax, letting him sink bonelessly into the uncomfortable support of the concrete, he twists his head enough to watch Cas lean down and lap the cum from his belly.  The sight of Cas’ pink tongue flicking out against his stomach makes Dean’s dick give an interested twitch.   

Goddammit, he wants more.  He wants everything they had before Sam decided to interfere.  He wants Cas’ cock in his mouth, and his ass.  He wants to be filled with him, drenched in his scent, marked by his fingers and his mouth and his teeth.   

But he also wants to live, and he has no idea how he can have both. 

Cas finishes lapping up Dean’s cum, and he lifts his head.  He crawls up Dean’s body, bracing his hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders before leaning down for a kiss.  When his lips open over Dean’s, cum dribbles from his mouth faster than Dean can take it.  What he doesn’t manage to take drips over his lips and cheeks in a warm path.  

Dean groans, and instead of swallowing, keeps it in his mouth.  He uses his tongue to press some of it back into Cas’ mouth, and they spend the next few minutes passing it back and forth.  It becomes sweet as it mixes with Cas’ venom, and Dean finally can’t resist the urge to swallow. 

It warms him, settling in his belly like a sip of hot coffee. 

“God, Cas, I-” He cuts himself off because he’s overflowing with so much satiated happiness right now that he’s afraid he’s going to say something completely mushy.  Not like a love confession or anything (he _hopes_ ), but whatever is hovering on the tip of his tongue feels like it might end up being poetic bullshit, and he’s just not gonna go there. 

Cas nuzzles Dean’s jaw, and Dean can tell by the puffs of warm air against his skin that Cas is scenting him.  “I’ve missed you, Dean.” 

Okay, that’s a little mushy, but Dean can go with it.  He runs his hands up and down Cas’ back, relishing his warmth through the thin henley he’s still wearing (although not for long, because Dean is going to be ready for round two pretty damn quick, and what’s left of their clothing has got to go).  “I missed you too, Cas.” 

It strikes him that those simple words are the truth.  Venom is buzzing through his veins, and his dick is still half hard, and he knows that any minute now more sexing could happen.  But despite being crushed into the hard surface of the apartment’s roof by Cas’ weight, Dean feels fucking fantastic because Cas is _here._  Holding him, and touching him.  Warming him like a living blanket.  They’re breathing each other in, and just existing together, and it’s nice.  Really fucking nice. 

He wants this all the time.  Every day.  Post-coital or not.   

But if he keeps Cas around, he’ll die. 

But if the feather fades away he may go back into withdrawal, and he may die anyway. 

And once again, he’s back to _damned if you do, damned if you don’t._  

“Did you know?” He didn’t know he was going to ask the question, but it’s out there now.  “Did you know I was dying?” 

Cas goes still for a heartbeat before curling his body around Dean.  His arms dig down under Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer.  His face presses into Dean’s neck, and a slight tremble starts up in his body.  “I gave the reaper one of my feathers so that-” 

“Not in the hospital,” Dean interrupts.  It’s good to know that he was right about Cas sending him that feather, but that isn’t the point of his question.  “Before Sam sent you away, and I started going into withdrawal.  I was getting sick.  Real sick.  Did you know what was happening?” 

A low keening noise emanates from low in Cas’ throat.   

“Cas.  Answer me.”  Dean’s back is starting to hurt from lying on the hard floor, and he desperately wants to wriggle into a more comfortable position, but he knows that’s not going to happen unless this little cuddle-fest moves to a place with furniture, preferably a bed, but he’d be happy with a couch. 

Just not his own bed or his couch.  He’s absolutely certain Adam wouldn’t sleep through the things he and Cas would do to each other. 

“Cas?” 

“I didn’t know what was wrong,” Cas whispers against Dean’s throat.  “I knew your soul was getting dimmer and dimmer.  It would flare up whenever we fed together, but almost immediately afterwards it would lose a little more of its light.” 

Dean blinks, and tries to turn so he can see Cas, but the demon is making hurt noises and trying to bury himself in Dean’s neck.  He keeps kissing the scar of his first bite, nipping at it like he’s tempted to sink his teeth in and reopen it.  “What do you mean ‘fed together’, Cas?” 

“I could never give you enough.  I would give you more and more, and you would soak it in,” Cas continued.  “But it drained out of you immediately, and you were getting weaker and weaker.” 

“Cas!  What were you giving me?”  Dean shoves at Cas’ shoulder, and kicks out a little with his legs, but he’s not strong enough to break free, and apparently Cas isn’t done talking. 

“I can feel it draining out of you right now, and I don’t know how to stop it.”  He frees one of his hands, and grabs Dean’s forearm, pressing his thumb into the fading feather mark.  “Even this is slowly slipping away from you.” 

Dean stops struggling when something clicks into place in his brain.  “Cas… when we have sex, are we feeding off each other?” 

Cas nods against Dean’s neck.  “You give me so much.  You make me strong, and powerful.  But there must be something wrong with our bond, because I cannot do the same for you.  I was giving you as much as I could, but you were always so hungry.  Starving.  Dean, when you were in the hospital, I could feel how hollow you were, and even if I could get past the wards _I couldn’t do anything._ ” 

 _You give me so much._    

 _I cannot do the same for you._  

“Cas…”  Fuck, he’s not even sure how to say what he’s thinking.  “Cas… humans can’t eat souls.” 

Not without some serious dark magic, which would destroy the human’s soul in the process.  Just thinking of that kind of magic makes Dean feel ill.   

Cas goes still, and after a moment finally lifts his head.  His pupils are constricted tight, and his eyes are so wide that Dean can see white veined with red all around his irises.  “But I can feel you feeding from me.  I can feel how your body hungers for mine.” 

The demon looks so spooked that Dean starts rubbing his hands up and down every part of Cas’ body he can reach.  “It’s your venom, Cas.  I’m addicted to it, like heroin or something.  My body needs it, and when I stopped getting a daily dose, I went into withdrawal.” 

He can see the wheels turning in Cas’ head.  Slowly, Cas pushes himself up and off of Dean until he’s kneeling between Dean’s thighs.  His stare never wavers.  

One of Dean’s arms is still tangled in his shirts, so he shakes them free and sits up, ignoring the awkwardness of sitting out in the open with half his clothes pulled off.  “Cas?” 

“But you’re my mate,” Cas finally whispers.  “My soul should sustain yours as yours sustains mine.” 

Dean shakes his head.  “Maybe that’s how it works with demons, but since I’m a human-” he tries to think of something better than _you’re eating me to death_ , because it sounds way too Hannibal.  His nose wrinkles in disgust at the mental image that generates, and reaches up to rub his fingers through his hair.  “-my definition of ‘soul food’ is country fried chicken and cornbread muffins.” 

He blinks in surprise when Cas suddenly scrambles away from him.  The demon comes to a stop when his back comes up against the giant industrial air conditioning unit that services the upper floors of the building.  His chest is heaving, and he’s even paler.  He looks three hairs from full blown panic. 

Dean stays still, afraid that too much movement will tip the scales, and he has no idea how to handle a panicking demon without using a banishing spell.  He’s not going to do that though, because he doesn’t want Cas to leave.  “Cas?” 

“I’m killing you,” Cas breathes out.  Tears fill his eyes, and he repeats it a little louder, his voice trembling with so much emotion that Dean’s chest aches.  “I’m killing you.” 

“So you really didn’t know that feeding from me was bad for me?” Dean asks cautiously.  That is ridiculous because Cas is so old.  Shouldn’t he know what’s going on?  “Dude, you’ve fed on humans before, haven’t you?” 

“Never more than once or twice,” Cas answers blankly.  “I do not come to the Human Realm unless summoned.  My lovers and pets have been other creatures from my own Realm.”  His eyes are unfocused, as if he’s searching for something inside his own mind.  Maybe going back over his experiences.  “And our mating bond should protect you from harm.” 

Irrational jealousy at the thought of Cas’ _lovers and pets_ makes acid burn in the back of Dean’s throat.  He forces himself to swallow it down, because out of all of them, Cas never picked any of them to mate with.  He mated _Dean_. 

The thought shouldn’t give him a serious case of the warm fuzzies, but this whole situation is fucked up so Dean ignores it.  He holds out a hand to Cas, palm up, silently requesting that he come back to him.  “Okay, so it’s good to know you weren’t trying to kill me.  So now we just have to figure out what to do.” 

Cas’ eyes snap back into focus on Dean’s face.  They drop down to Dean’s hand, then back up.  His head starts shaking back and forth and he presses his shoulders harder against the AC unit.  “Dean… I won’t hurt you.” 

“I know it wasn’t on purpose, Cas.  Come on, we’ll-” 

Cas bares his teeth in a snarl.  “No.” 

And then Cas is gone, and Dean is alone on the rooftop, half naked and suddenly terrified that this time he may be gone for good.  The ball of warmth inside his chest pulses with his heartbeat, and he can still feel the venom buzzing in his veins.  But it’s not going to last for long. 

He sighs.  Damned if does, damned if he doesn’t. 

A shadow falls over his eyes, and he glances up just in time to see a shimmering black feather floating down from above.  He reaches up and catches it.  Just like the feather the reaper gave him, the barbs seem to twinkle with lights, like stars against the black backdrop of empty space.  He raises it to his nose, which twitches at the tickling sensation, and inhales honey and cloves.  The warmth inside him seems to grow slightly as Dean brushes the feather over his skin.  

Well, at least Cas has given him something to stave off the withdrawal symptoms a little longer.  He has more time.  And he’s going to need every second of it.   

He bursts into action, getting back into his clothes, and running for the door that will take him back down the stairs to his apartment.  First things first, he’s got a couple calls to make.  If Bobby’s library doesn’t have what he needs, Grandpa Henry’s probably will. 

He grips Castiel’s feather tight.  The shaft is warm against his palm. 


	19. Chapter 19

The day is bright and warm, the air hazy with pollen from trees growing around the Men of Letter’s bunker.  Dean pauses outside the entrance and inhales deeply, savoring the clean scent, and takes a brief moment to appreciate the fact that he didn’t inherit his mother’s hayfever along with her magical talents.   

Movement near the trees catches his attention just as he’s reaching for the door handle, and he jerks around, hoping to see- 

His heart sinks when he scans the area and no one is there.  He can feel the weight of eyes on his shoulders, just like he does every time he leaves the wards of his apartment, but Cas keeps himself hidden from Dean’s sight.   

Dean shrugs the invisible weight away.  He’s already tried to get Cas to come out of hiding more than once, even giving up his pride and getting on his knees to beg.  He’s had no luck, and he knows that he’s going to have to find a solution to their dilemma if he ever wants to see the demon again 

He does.  God, he _does._  

The bunker door swings open easily under his touch, silent on well oiled hinges, although it closes behind him with a loud clang.  Dean pauses at the top of the stairs and takes in the sight of the tiled floors and the huge map table in the next room, smiling with nostalgia.  It’s been a while since he’s been to the bunker, but just like Uncle Bobby’s place, and Aunt Ellen’s bar, it still feels like home every time he comes for a visit. 

Footsteps echo through the spacious room, and soon Henry Winchester is striding into view.  When he looks up and sees Dean standing just inside the door, his eyes light up.  “Dean, my boy!  Welcome!” 

Dean grins and bounds down the stairs, meeting his grandpa at the bottom and accepting his welcoming hug.  Goosebumps spread up his arms at the touch, but the tiny chill is nothing compared to what he’s spent weeks recovering from.  “Hey Grandpa, how are you?” 

Henry nearly crushes the air out of Dean before he finally leans back, holding Dean by the shoulders and looking him over with a critical eye.  “I’m good, of course.  But what about you?  Are you recovered enough to be out and about?” 

By the time Dean’s friends and family finally decided he could be trusted to be on his own again, Dean was ready to start biting heads off, and not in the figurative sense.  He’s used to having people around most of the time, but twenty-four-seven surveillance is a bit much.   

It took drastic measures to get everyone to leave Dean the fuck alone.  He’d pop in a porn DVD while Sam was his designated babysitter, and then grin when his brother squawked and scrambled for control of the remote.  “How’s a guy supposed to take care of himself when he doesn’t get any private time, Sammy?”   

The bitchface he received for that question was of truly epic proportions. Dean wishes he’d taken a picture. 

But it was exactly the right kind of motivation to get Sam to leave.  And after a few more similar carefully planned scenarios, Dean managed to scare off everyone else as well. 

“Yeah, Grandpa I’m good,” Dean answers truthfully.  He’s still never quite warm enough most of the time, but the feather hanging from a leather cord around his neck radiates gentle heat against his skin.  It’s the third one Cas has left him since their confrontation on the roof a few weeks before, the first two having disintegrated when their magic ran out.  The mark on his arm has faded almost completely.  Sometimes he can still see a faint shimmer against his skin if he holds it under sunlight, though.  Dean hopes that he gets to keep that reminder at least. 

He hasn’t seen Cas since then, but every time Dean needs a new feather, he finds one.  The first was left just outside his window sill, somehow not blowing away with any errant drafts.  The second and third he found inside the Impala.  Each time he finds a feather, he’s torn between anger that Cas is avoiding him, and joy because the demon is still taking care of him, even if it’s from a distance. 

A distance he’s determined to close.  Which is his reason for visiting the bunker. 

Henry grins brightly, and squeezes Dean’s shoulders.  “That’s good to hear.  You gave us all quite the scare, you know.” 

Somehow the words don’t hold any censure, and Dean finds himself grinning back.  “Ah, c’mon.  You know it takes more than a little demon to take out a Winchester.” 

Henry snorts, but his smile doesn’t fade.  “It’s not the little ones I’m worried about, no.”  He cocks his head to the side.  Despite the steady smile, his eyes go sharp and knowing.  “So what brings you here?” 

Dean clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to another.  He’s going to need Henry’s help, but he’s not really comfortable with talking to his grandfather about Cas.  Not just because it’s embarrassing as fuck to talk about sex demons with him, but because he’s afraid his request will get back to Sam and John.  “I uh… need to borrow the library.” 

The huge repository of books owned by The Men of Letters is bound to have some information he needs, although the idea of hunting through all those tomes is daunting.  They’ve been in the process of digitizing it for more than five years now and they still only have a small fraction finished.  Unfortunately, Dean has already searched the digital stuff and couldn’t find what he needed, so he’s going to be stuck in the stacks for a while doing research. 

He wishes Sam weren’t so hell bent on keeping Cas away.  Sam is much better at the research side of magic than Dean is. 

“Of course you can borrow the library,” Henry says as he hooks an arm around Dean’s shoulders and leads him further into the bunker.  “Is there anything I can help you find?” 

Dean lets out a long breath.  Moment of truth.  “I’m looking for information on Incubi, specifically Incubi with human mates.” 

They walk in silence for a moment, and Dean is afraid to even look at Henry.   

“I think I may know a few books you can look into,” Henry says thoughtfully, again with no judgement in his tone.  He gives Dean a sideways look.  “I don’t suppose you want to share with me why you’re looking for them?” 

Dean stops, and Henry stops with him, turning to face him.  He looks down at the toes of his work boots while he decides how much information he wants to share.  He sighs, and decides to just go for it.  “Cas and I have a blood bond,” he admits. 

“Ah.  Well that would explain the severity of your illness.” 

Dean’s shoulders relax when Henry still only sounds mildly curious.  He glances up to find Henry waiting patiently for more information.  “But I guess something is wrong with the bond.  Cas says that it should protect me from him.  That I should be able to feed off him the way he feeds off me.  So I don’t die of soul fatigue.” 

Henry’s eyes focus on a spot somewhere over Dean’s shoulder as he thinks.  “So you’re looking for a way to break the bond?  I’m sure we can find-” 

“No!”  Dean winches when Henry’s attention snaps back to him.  “I don’t want to break the bond,” he says more quietly.  He squirms when Henry’s eyebrows go up in surprise.  “I want to try and fix whatever’s wrong.” 

A slow smile spreads across Henry’s features.  “I see.” 

That has to be one of the most annoying sentences in the history of everything.  Dean flushes, and clears his throat, looking away from Henry’s knowing expression.  “So do you think there’s something here that’ll help me?” 

“I think it’s worth looking into,” Henry replies before guiding Dean further into the bunker.  “It may take a while to find it though.  Do you want me to make up your old room so you can stay a while?” 

A tiny bounce insinuates itself into Dean’s stride as hope takes root inside him.  “Yeah, that would be awesome.”

 

xxxx

 

 _Although hopes were high for this particular solution, both subjects tested did not survive.  We were unable to attempt variations as we could not obtain more subjects._  

Dean huffs out a frustrated breath and slams the book closed.  He’d had good hopes for this particular text despite the fact that the tests were being done on humans mated to Nymphs instead of Incubi or Succubi.  He tosses it into the haphazard pile to his left, grabs another book from the pile to his right, and shifts his legs in an attempt to alleviate the numbness in his ass caused by sitting on the floor.  

The new book doesn’t look any more promising when he scans through the table of contents.  He settles it down in his lap and rubs both hands over his face before looking around.  He’s sitting cross legged on the floor between two seemingly endless shelves amid piles of books.  He’d given up carrying all of the relevant books into the study hall because he was starting to scrape the bottom of the barrell with his research. 

There are a million books about demon mating habits, but very few examples include human partners.  Even fewer include studies on how to break the bonds.  All of those end with the death of the human or the demon.   

So far there’s nothing about repairing a damaged bond.  It seems like he’s the only sick fuck on the planet that wants to keep his.  Maybe he should start looking for ways to fix whatever is wrong with his brain instead. 

“Hey, Dean.” 

Dean’s head snaps up, and he gapes at Sam as the younger man ambles down the aisle of books toward him.  “Sam?  What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for you since I haven’t heard from you in a few days and you haven’t been answering my calls.  Grandpa told me where to find you.”  Sam drops down to his haunches next to Dean’s discarded pile of books, and picks up the top one.  His eyebrows pop up behind his shaggy bangs when he reads the title.  “ _A Treatise on the Regeneration and Eternal Duration of Souls._ Doing a little light reading, huh?” 

Shit shit shit, Sam is _way_ too smart for his own damn good.  Dean just barely resists the urge to snatch the book out of Sam’s hands.  “Hey, I read.” 

“You read fiction, Dean.”  Sam waves the book.  “This isn’t your normal genre.” 

“What do you want from me, Sam?” Dean snaps, throwing his hands up before letting them fall to his thighs.  “So I’m doing some research.  I do that too, y’know.  It’s part of the Hunter gig.” 

His attempt at misdirection, weak as it is, fails.  Sam’s eyes go hard, and he sets the book back on its stack with deceptive calm.  “Are you trying to find a way to undo the blood bond?” 

Dammit.  Dean sighs in defeat.  “No.  Cas told me the only way to break the bond is for one of us to die, which will leave the survivor free.” 

“When did Cas tell you this?”  Something in Dean’s expression must give away his guilt because Sam’s eyes widen.  “You’ve talked to him since you promised me you wouldn’t summon him?  Dean, you promised!” 

“I promised I wouldn’t summon him, and I didn’t.”  God, that sounds just as bad out loud as he thought it would.   

Sam surges up to his full height, which is extremely impressive when viewed from Dean’s place on the floor.  “Semantics, Dean!  You broke your promise!” 

Unwilling to allow Sam to loom over him like a damn redwood, Dean scrambles to his feet as well.  He still has to look up for the argument, but he feels more evenly matched now.  “It was a stupid promise!  I needed to see him because this was fading.”  He thrust his arm out, and the light catches the mark just enough that it shimmers against his skin for a split second before fading to obscurity again.  “I probably won’t survive without Cas’ venom, Sam.” 

Sam eyes his arm, his nose crinkled with distaste.  “You’ve been doing fine.” 

“Only because of this.”  Dean reaches inside his shirt and pulls out the feather.  The starry lights had disappeared a few days ago, and its shimmery black is already starting to fade into mottled brown. 

“Where did you get that?”  Sam makes a grab for it, but Dean snaps it out of his reach and tucks it back in his shirt.   

“Cas has been leaving them for me,” Dean answers.  The feather tickles as it settles against his stomach, and he pets it through his shirt.  A spike of sadness pierces his heart because in a few days it will crumble to dust.  He knows Cas will give him another, but he wishes that he could keep one just as a memento.  “He leaves them in places outside the wards where I’ll find them.  They’re keeping the withdrawal symptoms at bay.” 

He stops petting the feather, jerking his hand down to his side, when Sam notices the motion. 

“When did you meet with Cas?” 

“It’s been a few weeks.  Adam fell asleep-” 

“That little shit.  He’d better watch his underwear drawer, because I have got a bottle of fresh itching powder with his name on it.” 

“Hey, you leave him alone.  It’s not his fault.  If you want to be pissed, be pissed at me.”  Dean isn’t about to let Adam take the heat for this.  If it hadn’t been Adam, Dean would have figured out a way to slip out from someone else’s watch eventually. 

Sam presses his lips together, and visibly takes control of his temper.  He obviously knows who he should really be angry at.  He always was so damn smart.  “You’re not looking for ways to kill Cas, since you already know how,” Sam says in a flat voice.  “So what exactly are you looking for?” 

“I’m looking for a way for me ‘n Cas to be together okay?”  In his frustration Dean kicks at a stack of books, taking dark satisfaction in the way the pages and bindings bend as they spill across the floor.  “I know it’s fucked up, and I know it’s probably because my brain is permanently hooked on the venom, but I don’t give a shit.  Alright?  I just want to be with him!” 

“Oh yeah?  So he can fuck you to death and then flit off to another idiot human and start over with a new pet?”  Unlike Dean, Sam’s voice stays at a reasonable volume, although his words are sharp as blades. 

Dean almost grabs a book to throw at his brother, but he manages to refrain with a silent reminder to himself that he _likes_ Sam.  Usually.  Today may be an exception.  “Dammit, Sam!  Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want him around for more than just sex?” 

Sam snorts.  “Right.  Of course.  Because you had so much time to spend together outside of the bedroom.” 

Throwing a book is sounding more and more inviting.  “I know it wasn’t long, but… but…” 

“But what?”  Sam shifts his weight to one foot and braces his hands on his hips.  “What, Dean?” 

“I’m in love with him!” 

Dean recoils as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  All the blood drains out of his head, and he goes a little dizzy.  He is pretty sure that he had absolutely no intention of admitting that, so he doesn’t know how it happened anyway.  Sam knows his buttons, but when it comes to feelings, Dean doesn’t have a button.  Or so he thought.   

His words make Sam go still, other than a slight widening of his eyes.  After a moment where both of them barely breathe, Sam finally huffs out a disbelieving laugh.  “Yeah right.” 

Admitting his feelings wasn’t intentional, and it’s more than Dean had even admitted to himself in the privacy of his own mind yet, but Sam’s reaction pisses Dean off.  He squares his shoulders, and lifts his chin to a defiant angle.  “Go to hell, Sammy.”   

Sam laughs again, big belting guffaws that shake his whole body until he has to grip his stomach and wipe tears away from his eyes.  “C’mon, Dean,” he finally manages to huff out between laughs.  “You can’t really expect me to believe you, right?  You’re not even into guys, much less romance.  You’re not a ‘feelings’ kind of guy.”  He actually airquotes “feelings” like he’s twelve. 

Curling his fingers into his palm, Dean seriously considers decking the asshole.  But he’s already made enough of a mess of the area, and Grandpa Henry will give him shit if he does anything worse.  Instead he forces himself to turn away from his brother and bend down to start picking up the books he scattered across the floor.   

Sam’s laughter finally cuts off.  “You’re… you’re serious?” 

Dean straightens and starts putting books back in their places, concentrating on getting them back in the right places instead of just shoving them into any open space.  He doesn’t answer Sam.  What is he going to say?  He doesn’t know how to explain how he feels changed inside.  How he’s discovered things about himself because of Cas, and wants to explore more.  He doesn’t have the words, or the inclination.  Sam can either believe him, or fuck off. 

“Dean, you don’t love him.  It’s the venom making you feel that way.” 

“So what?” Dean mutters.  He doesn’t think that’s true, but he’s hit his quota for emotional confessions so he doesn’t want to argue about it anymore. 

“So it’s not real.  You need to stop keeping the feathers he’s leaving for you, and allow yourself to get completely off the venom so that you can finally get back to normal.”  Sam’s using his reasonable voice.  The one that makes him sound like a lawyer. 

Dean bends down to grab some more books.  These ones are from a pile that he hasn’t gone through yet, but at this point he’s beginning to think he’s not going to find what he needs in this library.  “It feels real enough, Sam,” he says as he straightens back up. 

“That’s because it is real.”  Both Sam and Dean’s heads snap around as Henry approaches them from the far end of the aisle.  His arms are also full of books.  They’re old and large and dusty, so he must have gotten them from a section of the library Dean hasn’t been in yet since most of the place is kept meticulously clean.   

“Grandpa,” Sam starts to argue, even as he reaches out to take some of the books from Henry to ease his burden, “It can’t be real if it’s caused by Dean’s addiction.” 

Henry chuckles fondly and shakes his head.  “Sammy, you are such a bright kid, but you’re studying the wrong subjects to be able to make that assertion.  Incubus venom causes lust, not love.  And despite what modern media would have us all believe, those are not the same thing.”  He holds out the rest of the books to Dean, as he continues.  “Only Siren venom causes their victim to fall in love.  And it’s just as real as falling in love the old fashioned way, since all the chemicals that make up love are already in the human brain.  Siren venom just causes the brain to increase the production of those chemicals.” 

“Yeah, but what if Dean is confusing lust with love?” Sam counters. 

“Excuse me,” Dean snaps.  “I am fully aware of what lust feels like, thank you.” 

Sam scowls at Dean, but Henry’s eyes twinkle with humor.  “Ah, to be a young buck again.” 

The brothers both wrinkle their noses at the idea of their grandfather playing the field as thoroughly as Dean does.   

“There is a reason Incubus venom is used in male enhancement drugs,” Henry points out. 

“Not the legal kind,” Sam mutters.  “And it’s used in love potions too.” 

“Not by itself,” Henry counters.  “What’s the main ingredient?” 

Sam sighs, and his shoulders slump.  “Siren venom.”   

“Exactly.”  Henry smiles proudly and claps Sam on the shoulder.  He nods his head to the books the brothers are holding, and addresses the rest of his comment to Dean.  “Those are from the high security vault, so please do not tell my superiors that you are reading them since you are not authorized.” 

Dean grins.  “Thanks, Grandpa.” 

Henry winks, and takes his leave.  Sam and Dean stay rooted in place, watching until he’s gone instead of looking at each other.  Dean isn’t sure if Sam is sticking around to argue with him some more, or if he’s just excited to be holding books that he’d normally never be allowed to touch before his initiation into the Men of Letter’s organisation.  The way he’s clutching the old books is a hint that it may be the latter, but Dean doesn’t count on that to get him out of more lectures.  He turns to take the books to the table at the center of the library where he’d been doing most of his research before deciding to camp his ass right in the middle of the bookshelves. 

He’s careful with the ancient tomes as he sets them down on the table, spreading them out side by side.  He stays silent while Sam does the same with the books he’s carrying, and ignores his brother while he flips open the first and and scans the table of contents.  It’s in Demonic, which Dean can read with a little assistance from a language codex, so he’s not surprised that it’s not the kind of book the Men of Letters just leave out for anyone to peruse. 

“So you really love him?” Sam asks as he settles himself in a seat across from Dean. 

Dean shrugs, but doesn’t look up from the book.  There are a few chapters that look like they might have something useful, and he reaches for the spiral notebook and pen he’d left on the table earlier so he can start making notes. 

The silence stretches between them for several more long minutes. 

Finally Sam sighs, and flips open one of the other books.  “I suppose you’ve already looked up everything written by High Sorceress Rowena?” 

“Everything I could find besides the Book of the Damned,” Dean answers without looking up from the notes he’s taking.  He holds up a hand to stop the scolding he knows Sam is about to voice.  “And no, I won’t be going that direction.  Black magic is out of the question.” 

“Well that’s a relief at least,” Sam murmurs.  He starts flipping through the book in front of him, and after a moment shifts around to pull out his smartphone.  He takes a picture of the page, and then starts tapping the screen. 

Dean looks up at Sam.  “What are you doing?” 

“Research.” 

“On what?” 

Sam flips to the next page and starts tapping his phone screen again, probably taking notes on some fancy app.  “How to fix your problem with Cas.” 

Dean straightens in his seat and stares at his brother.  “Really?” 

“Well, you love him right?”  Other than a twitch of his lips, Sam looks completely engrossed in what he’s reading.   

“Yeah,” Dean says on an exhale. 

Sam looks up, and his expression is resigned, but he’s also smiling.  “This is a big library, and you and I both know that I’m better at research than you are.” 

“Fuck you.”  There’s no heat in the words.   

They smile at each other for a moment and then go back to their books.  For a moment the words blur in front of Dean’s eyes and he has to blink a few times to clear his vision.  Maybe with Sam and Henry on his side he’ll have a chance of finding a way to be with Cas. 

“Thanks, Sammy.” 

“You’re welcome, Dean.” 


	20. Chapter 20

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is stumble into his room and faceplant on his mattress.  He snuggles deeper, snuffling against the sheets, and lets his muscles relax into the comfort of his own bed. 

He runs a palm over the mattress.  “Mmm, I missed you.” 

The bunker has comfortable beds too, but nothing is as nice as his own.  He thinks the only thing that could possibly improve the comfort of his own bed would be if it were already warm from another body. 

And just like that, the little bit of joy he gets from coming home for the first time in over a week dies.   

He rolls over onto his back, and stares glumly at the ceiling.  Disappointment that he and Sam didn’t find anything even remotely helpful in the bunker library wells up inside him, and he rubs absently as the ever present ache in his chest increases.   

There’s a possibility he might find more information in other libraries, but Henry made the point that only the high security books aren’t duplicated in every location.  Unless he wants to join their order, he won’t be able to access them without Henry’s help, and that’ll start to look suspicious very quickly. 

He considers asking Uncle Bobby if he might have any more resources, but he discards the idea almost immediately.  The Men of Letters are scholars, gathering information about and studying the Supernatural.  They are the primary source of information for magic schools around the world.  If they don’t have what he’s looking for, he doubts Bobby will.  Bobby specializes in hunting and killing monsters, so the likelihood that he would have more than just information on exterminating creatures is low.   

Besides, there’s a slim chance that Bobby might tell John what he’s looking for.  Dean can usually trust Bobby to keep things to himself, but if he thinks Dean is endangering himself, he’ll pull out the big guns.  John Winchester is to most hunters what Dirty Harry’s .44 Magnum is to a lady’s pearl-handled derringer, and Dean would rather not paint a target on himself. 

Bobby would also be under the impression that Dean would stop searching for ways to be with Cas just because John told him to.  Maybe in the past, that assumption would have been right.  But not even John is going to stop Dean’s search. 

It’s a weird feeling to know that this is something he would defy John over.  Since Mary’s death, Dean has always followed in his father’s footsteps.  Her loss devastated them both, and their relationship to each other became dangerously codependent.  Dean needed John to fill Mary’s shoes as his teacher and caretaker, and John needed Dean as the reminder of his lost wife. 

They’ve drifted apart as Dean has gotten older, just like most parents and children do when the children go out on their own and start living their own lives.  But Dean has still always done everything John has ever asked of him, without question.

Maybe this is just the next step in his evolution of adulthood.   

He rolls his eyes at himself because that sounds like something Sammy would say. 

His eyes fall on the wards chalked onto his walls, and he frowns.  He’s drawn the same symbols himself thousands of times.  He’s etched them into containment circles, and chalked them into walls during hunts.  He’s even used them to permanently protect homes for families that have children with magic so that they are safe until the kids learn to control their powers and start putting up their own protective wards.   

Those symbols are as familiar to him as the alphabet is to the average American.  And yet right now they offend his senses.  They’re ugly, and the tiny pulse of magic around them makes his own magic ripple under his skin like a great restless beast swimming just under the surface of the ocean. 

With a sudden burst of energy, he jumps up from the bed and stalks out of his room.  In the bathroom under the sink he finds cleaning supplies and takes them back into his room.  His whole apartment is warded, but the ones in his bedroom need. to. go. 

Breaking the wards only requires a smudge of a line, but he scrubs furiously at the markings written on his wall until all signs of them are obliterated.  Satisfaction builds inside him, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.  He grabs his rags and his spray bottle and heads out into the rest of his apartment, scrubbing away Sam’s wardings wherever he finds them.   

By the time he’s finished, his whole apartment smells lemon fresh, and he no longer feels any of the wards pressing against his senses.  Thank goodness Sam hadn’t thought to make any hidden wards.  But he isn’t a Warlock, so it’s not in his normal procedure to trick the creatures he’s warding against.   

The only ward Dean doesn’t remove is the one he put on the apartment himself, and it’s not even visible anyway.  He pulled up the edges of the carpets when he first moved in and painted his wards on the floor before he’d started bringing in his furniture.  The magic is powerful, yet simple. 

_No one uninvited._

“You’re welcome in my home, Castiel,” he says to his empty living room. 

For a few heartbeats he goes still, waiting for the air to change around him, signifying Cas’ presence.  But nothing stirs, and Dean’s shoulders sag with disappointment. 

He catches a whiff of himself, and his nose wrinkles.  The last few days of researching were somewhat frantic as he began to lose hope that he would find a solution to his problem, and he neglected to really take care of himself while he and Sam were sequestered in the library.  Normally he can’t stand to let himself get this funky, so he decides to take care of that once he’s put away the cleaning supplies. 

Once he’s in the bathroom, he gets caught by his reflection in the mirror.  His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is getting just a little bit too long.  The stubble lining his jaw is creeping dangerously close to beard territory, and under it his skin is pale.  Even his freckles seem to be fading.  And there are dark bruises under his eyes, signifying how little sleep he gets now.   

When he got out of the hospital it felt like all he could do was sleep.  But then the dreams started.  Dreams of lips and fingers on his body.  Hands gripping his hips, pulling them, pushing them, moving him in rhythm against a strong torso.  His ass spread open and filled.  Teeth grazing his ear as Cas whispers compliments and encouragement. 

Dean groans at the memory, and shoves a hand down the front of his pants to adjust his hardening dick.  He’s no stranger to sex dreams, but that’s all he dreams anymore.  And he always dreams of Cas, then wakes up hard and horny and unsatisfied.  Jacking off makes his dick go back down, but the orgasms don’t even feel like they’re worth the energy.  He wouldn’t even bother if it weren’t for the fact that he’ll stay hard until he does something about it.   

They’re sex dreams turned nightmares.  Playing out the things he wants and needs, but can never have again if he can’t figure out a way to protect himself from Cas feeding from him.   

One thing he’s learned for certain in his research; Cas can’t help it.  If he gives Dean an orgasm, that sexual energy is absorbed by Cas, no matter what.  Even Cas’ own orgasms facilitate his feeding, since the touch or ingestion of his semen forces Dean to also orgasm.   

The only hope he’d gained at all from his research was about the state of his soul.  Soul fatigue can be fatal, however if given time to recover the soul will eventually grow back to full strength.  So it’s not impossible for Dean to survive Cas’ feeding as long as not too much is taken at once, and he’s given time to recover. 

The problem is Dean’s addiction to Cas’ venom.  One tiny taste, and he can’t get enough.  When he’s under the influence, he would happily let Cas fuck him to death.  It _would_ be a nice way to go, but Dean isn’t quite ready to take the trip to his final destination just yet. 

He sighs at his reflection, and decides he’s too tired to actually shower.  He flips the medicine cabinet open and gets the jar of cleaning cream Sam gave him.  A few dabs on his skin, and all the sweat and grime disappears from his body. 

Exhaustion pulls at him, and he decides to try and take a nap.  Even if he ends up dreaming of Cas, at least it’ll be like having the demon with him for a short time.  If he can’t have the real thing, he’ll take what little he can get. 

Inside his room he strips out of everything except his boxer briefs, and flops back down on the bed.  The feather hanging from his neck tickles his torso and he runs his hands over the silky length for a moment before lifting his head and removing the string that holds it.   

He twirls the feather between his fingers, watching as the last of the colors shift.  This one is almost done for.  All the color has bled out except for a few pale shades of blue and grey.  He expects it to start disintegrating in the next day or so.   

At least that means Cas will pay him a visit.  Even if he doesn’t stay.  Even if Dean isn’t aware of his presence.  He’ll be _there._ It’s not enough, but Dean will take it. 

He closes his eyes and brushes the feather over his lips, inhaling the last vestiges of honey and cloves still clinging to it.  What little control he’d had over his boner disappears, and it presses impatiently against the barrier of his underwear.   

Without conscious direction from him, Dean’s hips flex.  The drag of jersey cloth over sensitive skin sends tingling pleasure through his groin, and he does it again.  It’s still good, but there’s not quite enough pressure.  He clenches his muscles, and his dick presses up slightly.  It’s nothing close to being touched, but it feels good so he keeps doing it.  Undulating his hips and his stomach muscles, but never reaching down to stroke himself. 

With Cas’ scent coating his sinuses, Dean’s arousal stays at a low hum under his skin.  He could masturbate, but that would end things too quickly, and he wants to savor what power is left of this feather before it is gone.   

The climb toward his orgasm is slow and sensual.  The cloth of his underwear become damp with precum, changing the friction against the head of his dick.  Another roll of his hips makes him whimper when the cloth pulls tight over his balls.  Sucking in his stomach muscles makes the elastic around his waist tighten, making the cloth press tighter against his shaft.   

He doesn’t know how long he humps nothing but air, but he knows the instant he’s not alone anymore.  His eyes snap open, and he sees Cas standing at the edge of the bed, his glowing blue eyes tracking every inch of Dean’s body.  His pupils widen and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips when his eyes land on Dean’s crotch. 

Having Cas’ eyes on him again is nearly as intense as feeling his touch, and Dean’s slow ride to the peak takes on a little more speed.  He continues humping up into nothing but the tent of his underwear, and his free hand goes up to the bite mark on his chest.  The one over his heart that has completely healed leaving nothing but two white crescents in his skin.  He presses his fingers into it, trying to imagine the sting of Cas’ teeth. 

“Dean…” 

The awe in Cas’ voice makes Dean’ gasp.  He wants to beg for his touch.  To plead for a kiss, a taste of his venom.  But more than anything he wants Cas to keep looking at him like he’s the most magnificent thing he’s seen in multiple universes. 

“Watch me, Cas,” He murmurs as he continues to squirm and flex.   "See what you do to me."

“I shouldn’t be here.”  Cas takes a step back from the bed, turns his face away and closes his eyes.  The muscles in his neck and shoulders twitch like he’s fighting with himself to keep still.   

“Please, Cas,” Dean whines, thrusting his hips harder and arching his back on the bed.  “Don’t go.  We don’t have to do anything.” 

Cas stays rooted in place, his face turned away.  But his expression is one of pain and need, and it echoes everything Dean is feeling, has been feeling since Sam first sent him away.   

He tries again.  “Please… just watch.” 

Cas pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, making Dean jealous because he knows what that bite feels like and he wants it for himself, and he nods.  He doesn’t step close again, but his eyes open and drop down to Dean’s straining dick.  He watches it like his whole existence depends on it.   

Dean keeps his eyes on Cas’ face.  If he looks down at Cas’ body, which he can tell from his periphery is nude, he’ll lose it way too fast.  He’ll either come before he can finish showing Cas what he’s missing, or he’ll start begging to be fucked and that’s not what he wants to do right now. 

Well, he does want to be fucked.  It’s been far too long since he’s been filled until he aches.  But he has a goal in mind right now.  He wants to put a dent in Cas’ willpower.  To force him out of his self-imposed exile from Dean’s presence.  He wants to break the fragile self control that is making Cas tremble.   

Dean inhales the very last of the sweet muskiness from Cas’ feather and begins to move faster.  His stomach muscles burn from exertion and his thighs tremble with the need to spread and pull up to his chest.  He forces himself to stay still other than the twitching of his dick against his underwear and the undulations of his hips. 

When he first started this game it was just a way to prolong his arousal.  He didn’t think he could come like this.  But now, with Cas watching him he’s not sure he’ll last very long.   

He wonders if Cas will want to lick him clean. 

That is the thought that sends him over the edge, and he cries out.  His hips jerk, and he digs his fingers into the bite mark into his chest, and then his balls tighten.  The slide of cloth over his skin pulls him right to and over the crest of his orgasm. 

It’s better than any self gratification he’s given himself since his stay in the hospital.  It rushes through him, leaving his muscles limp and trembling, and his heart pounding until he can feel its pulse in all his extremities.   

When he finally feels himself begin to calm, he realizes the feather has turned to dust in his hand and across his face.  His nose twitches and he sneezes.  He brushes away the dust as best he can, then turns his attention back to Cas. 

The demon is panting hard, his eyes fully black and his nostrils flaring as he scents the air.  His whole body is rigid, including his gloriously thick cock, and the sight of it standing up from the nest of dark curly hair makes Dean’s mouth water. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable dampness in his underwear, Dean sits up and reaches out.  But Cas stops him with a barked “No!” 

Dean freezes and looks up at Cas in surprise.  “But Cas, you-” 

“I said no, Dean.”  The words are bitten off sharply, making Cas sound feral and dangerous.  His shoulders curl in and he takes another few steps back.  “I won’t hurt you again.” 

If Dean had harbored even the tiniest belief that Cas was evil, it would have died right then and there.  He can see how painfully aroused Cas is, and looking at him now without the haze of his own lust clouding his vision, it’s also obvious that he’s starving.  His skin is pale and tight across his bones.  His stomach shows a distinct inward curve, leaving his ribs and his hip bones sticking out too prominently to be healthy.   

“Cas, have you fed at all since the last time I saw you?” 

Cas shakes his head, but holds up a hand in a staying gesture when Dean moves to get up from the bed.  “I can’t.  I can never taste anyone but you.” 

Dean’s eyes go wide, and despite Cas’ protests he stands and closes the space between them.  He stops just short of touching when Cas flinches away from him, but his hands hover, itching to feel the smoothness of Cas’ skin again.  “Cas if you’re worried that I’ll be jealous, don’t be.” 

He’ll be jealous as fuck, but it’s better than watching Cas waste away from starvation.  It won’t kill Cas because of his immortality, but it will be the worst kind of suffering.  Nothing but hunger and need until Dean’s death sets him free. 

Or until he snaps and devours the rest of Dean’s soul.  Neither of them want that.  “Cas, you’ve gotta eat something.  You can’t starve yourself like this.” 

“I won’t hurt you, Dean.” 

“You’ll end up killing me if you keep this up.”  Dean’s stomach twists when Cas’ black eyes snap up to his.  He doesn’t want to heap on the guilt, but he thinks it might be the only tool he has to reason with the demon right now.  “What happens if you lose control and you’re so starving you can’t stop feeding until there’s nothing left of me, Cas?  Huh?  Have you thought of that?” 

Cas’ pupils contract into slits so quickly that Dean almost imagines there’s an audible snap.  “I wouldn’t-” 

“You might, Cas,” Dean presses.  Cas’ eyes start to flicker around the room, and Dean’s mouth begins to water because he knows he’s winning this argument, and he’s finally going to taste his demon again for the first time in far too long.  “I know you live for thousands of years, but I could live another eighty years.  Think of how hungry you’ll be.  Think of how hungry you are now.  It will only get worse.  And someday you’re not going to be able to resist.” 

“Dean…” 

Triumph makes Dean bold.  He places a gentle hand on Cas’ chest, runs it down over his abdomen, tangles his fingers in soft pubic hair.  Cas’ chest heaves with his labored breathing, and his pupils begin to expand again.  But he goes completely still when Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock.   

“Let me take care of this for you, Cas,” Dean whispers.  He wants to close the space between them and press their bodies together.  But one wrong move is going to spook Cas, and send him running off to god knows where again.  And if he chases Cas off now, Dean has no idea when he’ll be back.  “Just one orgasm.  Then we’ll stop.” 

He really hopes that Cas has the willpower to stop there and can’t sense Dean’s lie.  He wants to mean it, but he knows that if Cas wants more, Dean will give it to him. 

When Cas still doesn’t give in, Dean tries one more verbal push.  “It’s just a snack, Cas.  It won’t break your diet.” 

Cas snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes at Dean’s teasing, but he lets out the breath he was holding and nods.   

Dean sends up a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening, and hopes it’s not Cas’ angelic mother because that would be fucked up.  And then he drops to his knees. 

“Dean, what are you-?” 

He doesn’t let Cas’ protest go any further.  He licks at the bead of precum drooling from the tip of Cas’ dick and moans when pleasure spikes across his tastebuds.  And then he’s taking as much of Cas into his mouth as he can, suckling and licking, loving the feel of his lips being stretched a little too far.  He knows his jaw is probably going to be sore because it’s been a while since he’s done this it isn’t used to being held so wide anymore, but he’s going to cherish that ache.   

He uses one hand to stroke what he can’t fit in his mouth, and cups Cas’ balls in his other palm.  He rolls them back and forth, kneading them gently when he sucks roughly, and squeezing them just short of too hard when he changes to light licks and kisses.  

He uses every trick Cas taught him, controlling the ebb and flow of the demon’s pleasure by bringing him to the very brink and then backing off with soothing kisses and touches.  Precum coats his tongue and his teeth, and he swallows down every drop, moaning at the sweetness.  When he feels fingers carding through his hair, he rewards Cas by relaxing his throat and sinking down and down until his air is cut off and his nose settles against Cas’ groin.  Pubic hair makes his nose twitch, but he stays there until his lungs are screaming and Cas is tugging him back, forcing him away so that he’ll breathe. 

All the while, he soaks up Cas’ praise.  Each time Cas calls him beautiful, his skin flushes.  When Cas tells him that being in his mouth is paradise, Dean whimpers.  And when Cas calls him _mate,_ Dean nearly comes in his underwear again.   

He’s close.  So close.  And he knows exactly what he needs to come.   

The hand holding Cas’ balls slips away, although he nearly goes back when Cas whines at the loss.  But his fingers slip back, and he finds Cas’ slick hole.  He doesn’t hesitate or tease, and pushes his middle finger steadily and quickly through the tight muscle into burning wet heat. 

A small wail explodes from Cas’ lips and his fingers tighten in Dean’s hair holding him still so he can fuck into Dean’s throat.  Dean lets his muscles relax and moans against each inward thrust.  And then his mouth is filling with Cas’ sweetness and his own orgasm hits him like a freight train when he swallows it down.   

His body goes lax, and the only thing holding him up is Cas’ dick in his mouth and fingers in his hair.   

After a moment Cas lets him slide to the floor, sinking down with him and wrapping him in arms and legs, _finally_ pulling him close and just holding him.  Tears sting Dean’s eyes, and he presses his face against Cas’ chest.  He burrows close, and soaks in the demon’s presence. 

“I miss you so much, Cas,” he whispers against warm and sweaty skin.  “I miss this.” 

Cas runs his palm over Dean’s head and down his neck over and over, petting him until Dean wishes he had the demon’s ability to purr so that he can communicate accurately how much he loves it.  “I miss you too, Dean.” 

“It’s not just the sex, is it?” Dean bites down hard on his lip as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He blames the post-coital haze and the high from Cas’ venom buzzing in his blood for the sappy shit trying to spill out of his mouth. 

Lips press against his forehead, soothing his distress.  “No, it’s not just the sex.” 

Dean lets out a long breath.  He keeps his _thank god_ to himself though.  “Will you stay for dinner?” he asks hopefully.  When Cas goes stiff, he hurries to add “No more sex, I promise.  I just want you to be around for a little while.” 

It takes a moment before Cas relaxes again.  “Alright.  Would you like me to cook something for you?” 

“I’d love that.”  Having Cas in his home again, and feeding him?  Hell yes.  He’ll even let Cas hold the damn fork if it’ll keep him around a little longer. 

They lie there on the floor for half an hour, completely still other than the strokes of Cas’ fingers over Dean’s head.  Neither wants to end the moment, and they don’t want to get too handsy and start something more steamy up again.  Eventually the discomfort of lying on the floor makes Dean shift and the moment is broken. 

They help each other up, and Dean goes to the dresser to dig out some clean underwear that aren’t sticking to his uncomfortably to his skin.  He pulls them off and on a whim tosses them to Cas. 

Cas catches them and blinks down at them before lifting a questioning brow in Dean’s direction.   

“In exchange for the feathers,” Dean says with a grin. 

Cas’ pupils, which have been hovering at a loose oval shape, expand almost to a circle, and he lifts the underwear to his nose.  He inhales deeply, letting his eyes slipped closed as he takes in the scent. 

That should not be so friggin’ sexy, but damn, it so is. 

And then Cas lowers the underwear, shakes them out and puts them on.   

“Really?” Dean asks in surprise.  “They’re going to be crunchy when they finish drying, dude.” 

Cas shrugs and smiles.  He laughs quietly when Dean wrinkles his nose in disgust, and accepts the clean lounge pants Dean also throws at him. 

Dean puts on clean underwear, and doesn’t worry that he’s not quite clean himself.  It almost makes him feel like he and Cas match, which is so grossly romantic that he wants to kick his own ass all the way to the shower and back.  Instead he just pulls on his favorite flannel pants, and leads the way out of his room, Cas close enough on his heels that he can feel the heat of his body. 

He watches Cas make him spaghetti, teasing him about using sauce from a jar instead of making it from scratch.  That garners him a promise for “the real thing” as soon as Dean buys the right ingredients for it.   

When it’s time to eat, Dean doesn’t argue when Cas wants to feed him.  It’s a messy process, but Cas licks away any sauce that spills on Dean outside of his mouth.  They’re both hard and panting by the time the meal is finished, but somehow Dean manages to keep his hands to himself.  He can see Cas struggling as well, and he wants desperately to do something about it but he can tell by the way Cas is starting to put space between them that he needs to be careful or the demon will disappear on him again. 

Thank goodness one of them has willpower. 

Cas takes the empty plate to the sink and makes a show of cleaning it slowly, keeping his back to Dean.  His spine is rigid, and his shoulders tremble, and Dean wants to lean up against him, and wrap his arms around his waist.  He wants to promise him that everything is going to be okay.  That they’ll get to be together soon. 

That last thing he can do.  “I’m going to find a way, Cas.” 

The demon turns enough to look at Dean over his shoulder, waiting silently for clarification. 

Dean stands and walks closer, stopping just outside of touching distance so he won’t lose control of himself.  “There’s gotta be a way for us to be together without hurting each other,” he continues.  “A way that will let us be normal.  And I’m going to find it.  I swear.” 

“And what if you can’t?” Cas asks sadly. 

“There’s a way.  There’s always a way.” 

The dishes clink as Cas turns his attention back to them.  “Don’t make that promise, Dean.” 

Unable to resist any more, Dean steps forward and presses his face against the back of Cas’ neck.  He only settles his hands on Cas’ hips, and keeps a tiny space between the rest of their bodies.  It’s as far as he can allow himself without losing control of himself.  “The promise is already made, Castiel.” 

Cas shivers at the sound of his Name.  Dean resists the burning need to kiss the warm skin in front of him. 

They eventually move apart, and Dean talks Cas into staying with him to watch a movie.  He’s tired, and needs at least three days of uninterrupted sleep, but he wants to keep Cas with him as long as possible.  Even if it means sitting at opposite ends of the couch to avoid temptation. 

They put on The Fifth Element because Dean is determined to give Cas an education on why Bruce Willis is awesome, and he falls asleep during Plavalaguna’s song.  Instead of sex, his dreams are filled with visions of a strange creature with feathered wings that look like the night sky.   

When he wakes up the next morning he can’t remember anything else about the creature other than the wings and that there were many eyes.  So many eyes.  And they were all focused on him.   

Then he realizes he is stretched out along the couch, and Cas is gone. 

There’s a brand new black feather under his hand where it rests palm down on the couch cushion. 

He curls his fingers around it and brings it to his nose, inhaling Cas’ scent.  It’s nothing compared to the flavor of Cas' venom, but for now it’s all he has. 

“I’m going to fix this, Cas.  I’m going to fix us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I had a whole bunch of false starts on this chapter, and then I took a break to write [some tentacle porn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5401322/chapters/12477068) which somehow turned into domestic fluff. Imagine that. Cuz that totally never happens to me, like ever. 
> 
> Anyway, being sidetracked helped! I realized afterwards that I was getting ahead of myself again in this story and needed some Dean and Cas time before I got into the next major plot point, so here you have it. Up next, we get to see what John has been up to lately :D
> 
> The sex was inspired by [this porn](https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1501741383) if you'd like to take a look ;)  
> (NSFW SO NSFW SOOOOO NSFW!!)
> 
> Also I'm on Tumblr with the same username if you'd like to come visit. It's multi-fandom, and I mostly reblog my Bioware OTPs, SPN stuff, porn, cats, and whine about my writing. But you're welcome to come say hi ;)


	21. Chapter 21

Several hours after Cas’ departure, Dean is on the phone with Henry.  Rubbing absently at a lingering ache behind his temple, Dean silently laments that even a blowjob leaves him with a sex hangover.  He tucks his phone between his cheek and his shoulder and grabs the pen and notebook next to his laptop.  “Really, Grandpa?  You think this Magnus guy will have some answers?” 

There is a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.  “I think there’s a chance.” 

Dean taps the end of the pen against the paper, leaving a trail of blue dots across the yellow page.  “You don’t sound too happy about that.” 

“He’s not exactly a model citizen, Dean,” Henry replies.  There’s a rustle of paper in the background.  “He’s one of the most brilliant magicians of our time, but he was excommunicated from our order for a good reason.” 

“Excommunicated?  Holy shit.”  Dean drops his pen and leans back into the couch cushions.  The heat from Cas’ body dissipated hours ago, but his scent still puffs up from the fabric to surround him.  “What the hell did he do?” 

“The list goes on for pages.”  The papers rustle again.  Henry must have a folder on Magnus in front of him.  “But the worst offenses are enslavement of unwilling test subjects, human experimentation, and ritual sacrifice.” 

Black magic.  A shiver goes down Dean’s spine.  “And you think I should talk to this guy?” 

There’s silence on the line and then another sigh, this one longer than the last.  “No.” 

The little flame of hope that Dean has been desperately keeping alive in his chest dims slightly.  He throws his pen at the coffee table, and watches it bounce off to the floor.  He rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Y’know what, Gramps?  As soon as I figure this thing with Cas out, I’m going to write a fuckin’ book for the next loser who falls in love with a demon.” 

Henry’s laugh is fond.  “I knew there was a scholar hiding somewhere under that tough exterior.” 

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes even though Henry can’t see him.  “Sam’s the scholar, Grandpa.  I’m just a dumb Hunter like my dad.” 

“You give yourself too little credit.  Your dad, too.” 

One side of Dean’s mouth ticks up in a wry smile.  “Yeah, sometimes.” 

“Don’t worry, Dean.  We’ll figure this out.” 

“Just gotta ask a psychopath for help, huh?” 

“Maybe not just yet.  Magnus is a last resort.  I’ll keep digging.” 

The confidence in Henry’s voice soothes Dean, and the little flame of hope strengthens.  He’s not in this alone.  “Thanks, Grandpa.  I’m going to call Sam and see if he’s found any hidden gems at the University library.” 

“Okay, good luck.” 

Dean taps the phone screen to end the call, and pulls up the dial pad.  Before he can start dialing, his phone rings.  He grins and answers the call.  “Sammy!  I was just going to call-” 

“Have you heard from dad?” 

“What?  No, not for a while.  Why?” 

“He’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.” 

Dean imagines he smells burning rubber as his brain slams on the brakes and spins the steering wheel, reorienting his thoughts in a completely different direction.  After Mary died, John had sometimes disappeared for days, even weeks.  He’d come home battered and bruised, sometimes so badly that Dean had immediately taken him to the hospital even when he’d been too young to drive.  It’s one of the reasons Sam had learned basic healing potions.   

But Adam’s birth had snapped him out of his downward spiral.  He stopped leaving without letting people know where he was going, and he checked in daily so no one would worry that he’d died with no trace.  Dean had been jealous of the sudden turn around in his behavior at first, because why couldn’t he and Sam be enough?  It had taken him a few years to warm up to his new step-mom and youngest brother, but he could never completely turn his back on family.   

John trained it into him with every _watch over Sammy,_ but it’s the memory of Mary’s love that influences him the most.  How could he accept hugs from that blue eyed little boy that looked up to him as his big brother and not feel a little bit of the warmth that he’d felt every time Mary had hugged him?   

It’s the same love driving him to find a way to be with Cas.  Mates count as family, right? 

But if John is missing, he is at the top of Dean’s priority list.  “Does Adam have any idea where he went?” 

“No, and he’s freaking out.  Apparently dad said he had a demon to deal with, and he hasn’t been home since.” 

The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stands up.  John isn’t a Warlock, although he picked up quite a bit from Mary, and eventually from Dean as well.  He can handle an exorcism on his own fairly easily, but he doesn’t usually go looking for demons.  Not by himself.  He calls Dean in on those hunts. 

Just for giggles, Dean checks his call log.  Nope, no calls from Dad.   

He puts the phone back to his ear.  “Have you called anyone else?” 

“I called you first.” 

Dean’s heart stutters and he closes his eyes.  “He’s going after Cas.” 

“You don’t know that, Dean.” 

He can’t help a snort of disbelief.  “Wow, really?  You’re defending him?” 

“Dad and I don’t always butt heads.” 

“Yeah, I remember that you both agreed that Cas needed to be dealt with.”  It’s unfair, and he regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth.   

Sam sucks in a breath.  “Dean, I just-” 

“I know, Sammy.  I know.” 

They’re both silent for a moment.  It’s as close as either of them are willing to come to an apology over the situation.  Dean is sorry for rubbing Sam’s nose in their disagreement, and Sam is obviously sorry that they even had a disagreement.  It’s so familiar, it’s almost calming.   

Dean sighs and rubs his eyes again.  The lingering headache from his encounter with Cas is amping up again, this time from frustration.  “Okay, so we need to find out the details of his hunt.” 

Sam’s voice is full of purpose.  “We should talk to Bobby.  I’m coming over.  We’ll go talk to him together.” 

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than light slices through the corner of the room, then rotates into an oval, revealing Sam’s apartment.  The portal is just tall enough for Sam to step through.  It’s only been a day since Dean saw him in the bunker, and yet he looks even more tired than Dean feels.   

“Dude, did you get any sleep last night?” Dean asks as he rubs his hands over his arms to dispel the odd tingle he gets every time Sam opens a portal nearby.   

Sam smiles sheepishly.  “I uh.... might have snuck a book or two out of Grandpa’s library.” 

Typical.  Dean rolls his eyes, and gets up from the couch.  “I’ll get ready to go.  And we’re taking my car.  Don’t scratch her with the edges of your portal. 

Sam’s eyeroll is practically audible.

 

xxx

 

“You sent him alone on a demon hunt?” 

Bobby’s glare did little to diminish Dean’s anger, but his next words added the icy tingle of fear to the mix.  “You know I wouldn’t have put your daddy in danger.  He said he was going to bring you in on it because he was going after Yellow Eyes.” 

Next to Dean, Sam let out an explosive breath and took half a step back.  “That’s the demon that killed mom.” 

Dean just barely refrained from snapping at Sam.  He knows.  He was _there._ And he couldn’t save her because he was only half trained at the time.   

Even now that he’s fully trained and a professional Hunter, he doesn’t think he could take Yellow Eyes out on his own.  Maybe not even with his dad’s backup.  Which is why the fear is boiling up inside him alongside his rage.   

Not only did John go after Yellow Eyes alone, but he lied about taking backup with him. 

“Well obviously he didn’t invite me to the party, Bobby,” he snaps.  Almost immediately he feels guilty when Bobby raises an eyebrow at him, but he pushes the feeling aside.  His dad is in danger, and that is his focus right now.  He can smooth ruffled feathers later.  “And I’m nowhere near ready to-” 

He cuts off and jams his fingers into his hair.  It doesn’t matter if he’s not ready to face an archdemon.  He needs to go after his dad.  He starts cataloguing everything he’ll need.  He should have it all in his summoning kit.  He’ll need a boost of power too, but he’s pretty sure he still has access to Cas’ magic through their bond.  It should be enough. 

It’ll have to be. 

He straightens his spine, and looks Bobby in the eyes.  “Tell us what you know, Bobby.  And then grab whatever you need for a hunt.”  Unlike John, Dean’s not going to be stupid enough to go on his own.  He just hopes he doesn’t get them all killed.  He glances at Sam.  “While Bobby and I are gone-” 

Sam’s hair flops in his eyes when he shakes his head.  “Oh hell no.  I am not staying behind.” 

“Sam, it’s not safe for you.” 

“It’s not safe for you either, Dean!” Sam throws a hand out, gesturing at Dean.  “What makes you think you’re going to be able to take on an archdemon by yourself? 

Bobby snorts something about _chopped liver_ under his breath, but otherwise keeps his silence. 

“Mom died protecting you from that demon, Sam!” 

Some of the wind goes out of Sam’s sails, but he doesn’t back down.  “I’m not a kid anymore, Dean.  And you aren’t either.  You’re just as strong as Mom, and I’m no slouch.  And with Bobby…” 

“Glad someone remembers I’m here.” 

Dean and Sam both give Bobby a guilty look.  Bobby rolls his eyes.  “Come on, ya idjits.  We have a dumbass Winchester to save.”

 

xxx

 

The barn Bobby leads them to is a familiar location.  Dean has used it himself more than once to summon big baddies as familiars for major hunts.  Half the symbols painted on the floors and walls are there by his own hand.  But the scorch marks on the floor and the stench of sulfur are fresh.   

The stench of demon is so strong that Bobby gags.  Any other time, Dean would give him shit for that, but even his stomach is trying to roll over.  Not because of the smell, though.  He can feel tainted magic sliding over his skin.  Next to him, Sam is taking shallow breaths as if that’ll help.   

“Do you feel that, Dean?” 

Dean nods in answer to his little brother’s question.  “Black magic.” 

There are only two ways to kill a demon.  The first is to bind a demon and force it to kill the one you want dead.  It’s dangerous, and only a few Warlocks are skilled enough to enforce that kind of command.  Dean can do it, but he would never attempt to bind an archdemon.  He knows what he’s capable of, and that is slightly above his pay grade.  John is a skilled Mage, and taught himself the skills of a Warlock, but he’s not nearly as good with that kind of magic as Dean is.   

Which leaves the second option.  Using black magic to bind the demon.  The question is; did it work, or is John dead because he wasn’t strong enough to hold it? 

Dean wants to turn around and walk back out of the door and have Sam toss a fireball behind them to burn the place down.  The flames will burn away the taint, purify the grounds and destroy all traces of what his dad was up to.  But he can’t do that.  Not until he knows more about what happened.  He needs something that’ll lead him to John. 

He walks to the center of the barn where a huge summoning circle had been carved into the cement floor.  Closing his eyes, he sends his senses into the lines, trying to learn what he can of the spells last cast using the circle.  He can feel Sam and Bobby doing something similar from the edges of his awareness.  Each of them are familiar to his magical senses in the same way their features are to his eyes.  

Just as he can feel the traces of his own father’s magic wound through the circle under his feet.  He follows the traces, checking for patterns.  When he finds one, he frowns.  It starts unraveling as soon as he touches it and he scrambles to grab the tatters of the spell and hold it together until he can learn more about it.  He pours his strength into it, hoping it’ll last just a few more minutes. 

He’s so busy trying to hang onto the spell fragments, that he doesn’t notice how the sudden surge of power he pushed into it triggered another, smaller spell that he hadn’t noticed yet.  Not until it’s too late. 

The surge of power nearly knocks him to his knees.  It’s only his years of experience in dealing with demons that keeps him upright.  Sam and Bobby aren’t so lucky.  They both cry out in pain as they’re driven to the floor. 

A booby trap.  But left by who? 

The answer comes immediately.  A presence that should feel familiar makes Dean spin around to find John Winchester standing in the barn’s doorway.  On the surface, he looks completely normal.  Mussed hair, stubble that indicates he hasn’t made the acquaintance of a razor for a while, loose clothes covered by his old leather jacket that Dean used to steal to wear on dates when he was a teen because he thought it made him look cool.   

Anyone who didn’t know him would see just a regular guy.  But Dean isn’t just anyone.  He’s John’s eldest son, and a Warlock.  He can see the way John’s skin bulges and strains to hold the creature inside.  It’s already beginning to look frayed around the edges.   

The thing inside of John smiles.  “Hello, Dean.  It’s been a while.” 

Before Dean can respond, there’s a flare of light.  Sam’s hands are wreathed with flashes of electricity as he pushes himself to his feet.  “Get out of my dad, you bastard." 

The demon uses John’s body like an ill fitting glove.  It turns to Sam and its eyes widen with pleasure, flashing a sickly yellow.  “Sammy!  My boy!” 

Dean’s stomach clenches.  Fuck, he shouldn’t have brought Sam.   

They’d never figured out why this particular demon had fixated on Sam, and other children like him.  Mary had caught it trying to steal Sam from his crib when he was six months old, and she’d managed to drive it away.  But the demon had come back time and again.   

At Sam’s tenth birthday party, the demon had appeared again and Mary had died fighting it off.   Dean had cast his first banishment that day, only half understanding what he was doing. 

Just like they’d never learned why the demon wanted Sam, they never figured out why it never came back for him after that day.  But now it’s back and looking at Sam like he’s the only thing in the world it has ever wanted.   

The demon flicks out John’s tongue, wetting his lips.  “Sam, you smell even more delicious now than when you were a just a tiny thing.” 

“Hey!” Dean snaps.  “Eyes over here, ugly!” 

Yellow eyes turn to Dean and narrow, even as John’s lips stretch into a wider smile.  “Name calling, Dean?”  The demon gestures at itself.  “And you can’t possibly mean my meat suit.  The ladies seem to admire it quite a bit.  A few fellas too.” 

The smirk looks unnatural on John’s features.  Dean’s stomach turns again.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bobby tracing symbols on the floor with chalk, his mouth moving silently over the words of a spell.  He needs to keep the demon distracted and let Bobby do his thing, whatever it is.  “So what was the deal that you made with my dad?” 

“He asked me to kill your pet demon,” Yellow Eyes answered with a grin.  “I agreed on the condition that I get to use his body to do it.” 

Dean grinds his molars together.  He wants to correct the term “pet”, but he doesn’t want to taint the word “mate” by speaking it out loud to the monster in front of him.  “I saw him yesterday, so I’m assuming you haven’t held up your end of the deal.” 

The demon shrugs.  “He forgot to set a time frame.”  It bares John’s teeth in something that is too threatening to be a grin.  Too much teeth, not enough smile.  “I was just killing some time… among other things… while I waited for the bait to arrive.” 

Dean does not want to know what other things Yellow Eyes has been doing to entertain itself in the last few days, and he’s not going to ask despite the fact that he’s sure the demon wants him to.  “Let me guess,” he drawls, cocking one hip to the side as if he isn’t freaking the fuck out because if Cas senses the danger he’s in, he’ll show up and get shredded.  “I’m the bait?” 

Yellow eyes laughs with delight.  “You always were smarter than people gave you credit for, Dean-o!”  It takes a few steps further into the barn.  There’s a devil’s trap under its feet, but one glance shows Dean that it won’t do jack shit since the outer line has been broken.  He wonders if John did that before summoning the demon.  “But I’m going to have a little fun first.” 

“Fuck that,” Sam snarls from nearby.  The air vibrates with power and he throws his hands out.  Bolts of energy burst from his palms, so bright that Dean can still see them when he slams his eyes shut.  

It’s cut off before it reaches its target.  The light explodes outward, and light bulbs burst overhead, making Dean duck instinctively and open his eyes to see what the hell is going on.  

While Yellow Eyes is distracted, Bobby makes his move.  He shouts an incantation in an old dialect of Japanese as he pulls water from the air, wrapping it around the demon’s legs at the same time he pulls heat out of the area around him.  The water solidifies into a block of ice, pinning the demon in place. 

John’s deep laugh is distorted by the demon’s voice resonating within it.  With a twitch, it breaks free of the ice.  It waves a hand in Bobby’s direction, slamming him up against the wall.  Bobby makes a strangled sound as his feet leave the ground, and his whole body shakes violently as he tries to free himself from the invisible hold. 

Sam gathers power again, but before he can release it, Yellow Eyes performs his body slam trick again.  The crackle of electricity fades from the air, as Sam gasps against the pressure holding him against the wall. 

Rage fuels the uprising of power as Dean releases the spell he’d been preparing under his breath when Yellow Eyes turned away from him.  A net that would be invisible to anyone without magical abilities flies through the air and wraps around the demon. 

A roar thunders through the interior of the barn, rattling the tin roof panels even as Sam and Bobby drop to the ground.  Dean feels the net pulse with the demon’s power as it tries to free itself.  It nearly breaks, and he digs deep within himself for the magic to pump strength into the strands. 

Yellow Eyes stares at him from beneath the snarling mask of his father’s face.  “You’re strong, boy.  But are you strong enough to hold me and save dear old dad?” 

Dean’s heart stutters as the beast flexes inside John’s body.  Blood starts to drip from his ears and nose, and when he grins, his teeth are also stained with it.   

“If you kill my dad, I’ll fucking _destroy_ you.”  Dean digs deeper, pulling at the last of his magic to wrap the net tighter around the demon.  It presses into John’s skin, reinforcing it against the demon roiling inside him.   

He can’t kill an archdemon, but if John dies, he’ll find a goddamn way.  In the meantime, he starts an exorcism.  “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-_ ” 

Another flex of the demon’s power cuts him off.  His magic is draining too quickly and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold on.  And he needs all of his focus to keep the net from shredding apart.   

Thankfully Sam and Bobby take up the exorcism.  Bobby’s voice trembles, and Sam’s voice is firm, but their voices resonate with power.  “ _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio..._ ” 

His teeth clench until his whole face aches, and he pulls and pulls and pulls at the well of magic within himself.  He pulls until he feels the last dregs dissipate.  The demon laughs as it pushes against the net again.  Dean is running on fumes and the demon knows it. 

Just as he feels his grip on the net slipping, Dean feels heat pour into him.  His senses flood with honey and cloves, and his knees go weak even as he transfers the power into the containment net.  “Cas…” he whispers.  Then he joins his voice with Sam and Dean’s.   

“Enough games,” the demon growls.  With one giant pulse of strength it bursts through the net.   

The backlash throws Sam and Bobby back against the wall, and Dean feels his own feet leave the floor as he’s flung several feet back.  His head cracks on the cement floor, and he loses his grip on his magic along with his ability to see straight. 

Which is why he doubts his vision when his eyes roll upward and instead of the poorly patched roof, he sees the night sky.  He blinks in confusion as he watches a galaxy spin slowly across the pitch black background of space, dotted with millions of stars.  There’s something blocking his vision, warping the sky above him like he’s looking at it through crystalline feathers. 

The feather’s move, and Dean’s eyes roll to follow them and that’s when he realizes he’s not looking at the sky.  He’s looking at wings. 

Cas’ wings. 

Spread out above him, with the feathers puffed out to make them look larger.  But Dean can tell they’re already huge by the way they brush against the roof.  He follows the line of them, and what he sees takes his breath away. 

The creature standing between him and the yellow eyed demon looks like Cas, but with every ounce of humanity gone.  His body is still lithe and muscled, but his arms and legs are just a little too long to look human.  He can only see Cas’ back, but there are shimmery blue eyes staring at Dean from his shoulderblades, and another set of eyes on the back of his calves.  He’s balanced on clawed toes, and Dean can see a matching set glinting from the tips of his fingers. 

“Play your games with me instead, Azazel.” 

Getting a boner when his boyfriend is facing off against the demon that killed his mother and just might kill his father is completely inappropriate, but in his true form Castiel’s voice goes straight to every pleasure center of Dean’s brain.  At least he can take comfort in the fact that no one in the barn is paying enough attention to notice the tent in his jeans. 

Yellow Eyes - or Azazel - squares its shoulders and sneers at Cas.  “I’ll get to you when I’m done playing with my new toys, Castiel.  Be a good little whore and sit yourself in the corner until I’m ready for you.”  It flings out a hand and Castiel’s whole body slides back, even as his claws dig into the floor to keep him in place.  His wings flap twice to keep his balance.   

“They are not your toys,” Cas grits out.  His muscles strain against whatever force Azazel is throwing at him.  “They are my family.” 

If Dean wasn’t already sure about his feelings for Cas, those words cemented it.  Family is everything to him.  As it is to Cas, who has apparently adopted Dean’s family as his own.   

“You slutty little sex demons, always obsessing over your mates and your offspring.”  Azazel snorts a derisive laugh.  “You believe it is your strength, but it is your weakness.  How’s your pretty little mate going to feel when you can’t save his daddy from the big bad-” 

Cas let’s out a roar that has Dean slamming his hands over his ears, but it’s no use.  The damage has been done and they begin to ring painfully.   

Even Azazel flinches at Cas’ rage, and it’s all the opening the incubus needs.  He launches himself forward. 

Horror rips a scream out of Dean’s throat when he sees Cas’ shiny black claws reaching for his father.  “CAS!  NO!”   

He’s too late to warn Cas not to kill John.  But it turns out the warning isn’t needed. 

Cas’ claws sink into John, but there is no blood or tearing of flesh.  His body freezes, but Cas’ momentum carries him past John, dragging Azazel free of his body. 

The creature’s true form is so hideous that Dean can’t even look at it directly, but he scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of the barn after them.  He can’t let his mate face an archdemon on his own.  

He pauses long enough to check on John who slumped to the floor as soon as Azazel was ripped out of his body.  His pulse is weak, but Dean is satisfied for now that he’s breathing.  Besides, Bobby is already brushing him away so that he can check on John, and Dean feels confident with leaving John in his care. 

Sam follows on his heels, and the younger brother slams into Dean’s back, nearly taking them both to the ground when Dean slides to a stop just outside the barn.  Awe and terror war inside him as he watches Cas and Azazel tearing into each other.  Screams and snarls rend the air, and blood splashes in every direction as claws and teeth meet flesh. 

“We have to help him.”  Dean grabs Sam without looking at him.  “Sam, we have to help him!” 

“How?” 

Dean reaches for the magic within himself and comes up empty.  Cas is using all his power to fight the archdemon, leaving nothing for Dean whose own inner stores were depleted by holding Azazel in the containment spell.  “I don’t know!” 

His heart nearly seizes when Azazel throws Cas off.  Cas’ body is covered in long bleeding gashes.  His hair, black and sparkling with stars like his wings, is matted with the blood dripping from two enormous horns curving outward from his forehead.  Dean hadn’t been able to see them from his vantage point, but seeing them know sends another frisson of arousal coursing through him.  

If they survive this, he’s going to hold those horns while he rides Cas’ cock. 

His own dick twitches at the thought, and Cas surges up as if he got a second wind.  Just in time too, because Azazel is looming over him, claws raised up in preparation to slash down. 

Right.  Sex demon.   

Dean is never ever ever going to admit to what he does next. 

He closes his eyes against the distraction of two big ass demons battling it out to the death and starts imagining all the things he wants to do with Cas.  He pictures sucking that huge uncut cock that looks too big for more than just the head to fit into his mouth.  He imagines raking his fingers through sweetly scented feathers as he pounds his own dick into Cas’ leaking ass.  He imagines jacking off and covering those feathers with his cum and his own scent. 

He’s rock hard in his jeans, and he wants to jam a hand under his waistband and do something about it, but he’s already pushing his boundaries by fantasizing about sex while his brother is standing _right next to him,_ and he draws the line at public masturbation. 

At least in front of his family. 

The tiny boost Dean is able to give Cas isn’t enough though.  Azazel slashes at him again and again, and eventually pins him to the gravel road outside the barn.  Paws with too many fingers wrap around Cas’ throat and begin to squeeze. 

“When I’m finished with you,” he growls out through multiple mouths all lined with teeth like glass shards, “I am going to eat your mate, and I’m going to shit him out on your corpse.” 

Cas bares his fangs.  “You forget what I am, Azazel.” 

Dean has no way to read the archdemon’s expression since it doesn’t really have anything close to the definition of a face, but its whole body seems to pulse with fear.  “Nephilim,” it grates out with its many mouths. 

Cas answers by reaching up and grabbing a knobby protrusion that might be a head, or it might be a tumor.  But it’s covered in blinking eyes, all of which suddenly start pouring out light so bright that Dean has to throw an arm up to protect his own eyes from being burned out of his head. 

The archdemon’s death scream tears through Dean’s eardrums, and through his magical senses.  He feels Sam slump to the ground next to him just before his own consciousness slips away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for this. (Well, only a little bit sorry.)


	22. Chapter 22

The menacing growl right above him jerks Dean awake.  Adrenaline floods him, and he reaches for the pool of magic inside himself only to find it nearly empty.  His eyes snap open, and he tries to go for the knife sheathed at his hip, but he stills when he sees a large blue eye with a slitted pupil staring at him, completely caught by its gaze.

“You!  You get the hell away from my son!”

“Calm down, John, its trying to protect Dean from you right now.”

“Yeah, and Cas saved your life, Dad!”

Dean blinks.  The eye does not.  But another rumble reverberates through the body pressed against him.  That’s when he realizes it’s not really an eye, but just colored skin and Dean is actually looking at Cas’ shoulder near his collarbone.  Fascination makes him reach up to run the pads of his finger over the eye.  It’s soft, and the mark distorts as he pulls against the skin.

There’s a shift, and that’s when he realizes he’s not on the ground.  He’s upright and being held in Cas’ arms.  One is wrapped around his shoulders, and another is hooked just under his ass, pressing them together torso to toe.  And Dean can’t feel the ground beneath his feet.

“Dean!”  That’s John’s voice, but Dean doesn’t feel like whatever his dad wants is very important at the moment.

All he can smell is blood and sulfur and honey and cloves, and his body starts to respond to the dangerous mix of adrenaline and Cas’ pheromones.  He arches against Cas’ grip, and feels the shift in the demon’s focus.  Along with something hot and hard suddenly pressing against him.  

Cas’ growl changes from threatening to erotic, and Dean hums low in his throat.  It’s not quite a purr, but it’s the closest he can get with human physiology.

“Jesus, are they actually-”

“YOU GET AWAY FROM MY SON YOU GODDAMN MONSTER!”

Dean feels like he should really protest his dad calling his mate a monster, but the haze of lust enveloping him makes anything besides Cas seem unimportant.  He slides his hand away from the eye-mark and moves it down over a strong chest, marveling that the skin feels the same even though Cas’ body is so different.

“Oh god, oh god, they’re going to- Bobby, help me get Dad through the portal!”

“I’m not going anywhere!  We need to get Dean away-!”

Sam is usually the calm brother, but when he gets pissed he sounds downright scary.  His tone turns deadly serious.  “Dad, Cas isn’t going to hurt him, but he’ll hurt you if you try to stop him right now.  And you need to be in a damn hospital.”

“The kid’s right,” Bobby says.  “Let’s get you-”

“I’m not leaving my son!”

“Dean,” Cas rumbles.  

Dean looks up, way up, and boy that’s weird since Cas’ human form is a few inches shorter than him, and meets Cas’ gaze.  

Which has three eyes.  Framed by some really nasty looking horns which are currently coated in archdemon goo.

He flinches back and immediately regrets it when all three of Cas’ eyes widen and his mouth turns down at the corners.  He looks like a kicked puppy… or a kitten since his pupils are still slitted like a cat’s, and his features, while still human, have a distinct feline slant to them in his True Form.  

The arms holding him slip away, and Dean’s feet land lightly on the ground.  He realizes too late what’s happening, and he’s left cold when Cas puts too much space between them.  Reaching out, he tries to fix what he broke, to apologize and explain his reaction.

Before he can, Cas starts to shift before his eyes.  The incredible wings - and holy fuck are they really that big? - fade away into nothing, along with the wicked looking horns.  Cas shrinks down, and the markings fade from his skin.  The third eye blinks, and it’s gone.  Everything supernatural about him disappears except for the slitted pupils and the slight blue glow of his irises.  He looks nearly human again.  Familiar.

And naked.  The only thing hiding any of his skin is the archdemon’s pale orange blood.  

“Cas.”  The name fits him like this.  The other being is Castiel, a supernatural creature from a realm of monsters and demons.  This is Cas.  Just a man with strange eyes, wild bed head, and a strong dislike for clothing.

Dean shrugs out of his overshirt and cautiously closes the distance between them.  When Cas doesn’t move away, Dean drapes it around his shoulders.  Cas looks up at him with wary eyes, his pupils black slices through glowing blue.  Dean isn’t sure what Cas is looking for, but he seems to find it.  The demon slips his arms through the shirtsleeves and pulls the flaps closed around him, then shuffles a little closer to Dean.

“Are you alright?” he asks in his low, rough voice.

“I’m good, thanks to you.”  Dean lifts a hand and thumbs away a tiny splatter of gore at the edge of Cas’ jaw.  “You saved us.”

“Dean get away from him right the fuck now!”

John’s frantic voice finally pulls Dean’s attention away from his mate.  When he turns and takes in the whole picture, he snaps out of the lingering daze caused by Cas’ pheromones.

Forgetting Cas for a moment and ignoring the hands that clasp at his arms to keep him close, Dean closes in on where Bobby and Sam are holding John back from doing something monumentally stupid like attack a demon with his bare hands.

It seems to be his current M.O. these days.

Behind him Cas snarls out his name in a warning, and Dean flings up a hand in a gesture for him to stay back.  He doesn’t really expect Cas to obey, so he’s not surprised that he feels the looming presence close on his heels, but at least the snarling stops.

“What the _fuck_ were you THINKING?”  Dean bellows as he gets right up in John’s face.  He doesn’t even give him a chance to answer.  “Going after Yellow Eyes?  Are you _out of your ever-loving mind_?”

John doesn’t flinch in the face of his anger, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Cas.  “I told Bobby that as a cover.  I was just trying to summon an archdemon-”

“Oh like that’s _better_?” Dean snaps.  

“-but I didn’t really think I’d get Yellow Eyes.  I don’t know its Name.”

Dean’s fingers ball up in a fist and he has to take a deep breath to keep from letting it fly straight at his father’s nose.  “Oh yeah?  Well you got him!  Intent, Dad!  They can sense your fucking intent!  You didn’t think for a second that It would be tooling around in Hell, minding Its own business and hear your call and think ‘Hey I know that guy!  I never did get to eat his son, so I should check out what’s going on’?”  

He makes an aborted move to swing a punch and instead slams his fingers through his hair.  He turns to pace away, needing space and nearly collides with Cas.  Strong arms come up to hold him, and Dean lets himself be pulled into the embrace.  Cas is trembling, covered in viscera, and the scent of his pheromones is so strong, that Dean feels his knees go weak.  He doesn’t want to deal with his dad.  He just wants to take Cas to the nearest safe place and let him do all the pampering he wants.

“Dean, you get away from that monster.  It’s going to kill you and-”

Cas snarls again Dean feels his fingers flex painfully tight against his skin.  When Dean hisses in warning, they immediately relax their grip.

Dean looks back at his family.  John is still struggling against Bobby and Sam, although Dean has no idea what the hell he thinks he can do once he’s free.  Especially since he looks well on his way to his own dirt nap.  Dried blood is caked in his hair and his beard, and is still seeping sluggishly from his nose and ears.  Under the grime his skin is starting to look mottled and bruised, and he’s probably sustained serious internal injury from trying to contain an archdemon within himself.

“Sam, get him to a fucking hospital.  Now,” Dean orders.

His brother nods curtly and whispers the spell to open a portal even as John’s struggles increase.  John starts screaming threats at Cas, promising to find a way to destroy him if he hurts Dean.  He’s so incensed that Bobby nearly loses his grip on him as he starts dragging him through Sam’s portal.

“Dean, you need to come with us,” Bobby finally shouts over John’s nearly incoherent freakout.  

Cas’ grip tightens around Dean.  “No.”

“Hey.”  Dean smoothes a hand over Cas’ flank, petting from the soft flannel of his borrowed shirt to the warm skin below its hemline.  The action seems to immediately soothe Cas’ anxiety, and the demon relaxes his hold.  “He’s my dad, Cas.  I’ve gotta go and make sure he’s going to be alright.”

“Dean,” Cas whines.  “Please, I need to make you safe.”

“There’s nowhere safer than the hospital,” Dean assures him.  He knows Cas thinks Dean needs protection from humans as well as supernatural creatures, but maybe if he acts like he doesn’t think it’s something to be concerned about, Cas will get the message as well.  “I promise, I’ll come back to you soon.  I just need to be with my dad right now.  He’s my family.”

He knows the word family is what finally loosens Cas’ grip on him.  Cas’ arms slide free, leaving Dean cold in their absence.  He pauses, even though he knows Sam can’t hold the portal open forever, and brushes his palm over the perpetual stubble on Cas’ jaw.  

The demon leans into it, and Dean marvels at how different he seems when he’s worried.  Confident Cas is all feral sexy grins, and bossy commands.  The Cas standing in front of him is just barely holding it together, torn between giving his mate what he needs and dragging him off to a safe lair where he can pamper him in between fucks.

They’re both sexy in their own way, and even though Dean already knows he loves Cas, his heart softens even further.  “Go to my place, Cas.  I’ll meet you there.”  He glances over at his car, which has thankfully been left unscathed just outside the barn.  He digs his keys out of his pocket and hands them over to Cas.  “Get her home for me, will you?”

It’s a sign of trust, and by the way Cas takes the keys as if they are made of fragile crystal, Dean can tell that he knows it.  “Of course, Dean.”

They lean into each other at the same time, their lips meeting in a kiss that immediately wipes Dean’s mind clear of anything other than the feel of Cas’ mouth under his.  He slides his tongue over plush lips, and moans when Cas opens for him, and Dean catches a few drops of venom.  His veins heat with arousal.

“Dean, you gotta come now, boy.  Sam can’t hold the portal open forever while you make out with your boyfriend.”

Cas growls, and Dean grins against his mouth.  “Bye, Cas.  I’ll see you soon.”

As he steps through the portal, he looks back to see Cas standing where he left him, naked from the hips down, his modesty just barely concealed by the flaps of Dean’s flannel shirt.  The glow of his blue eyes is dim, his pupils dilated.  He looks small and lonely, and yet Dean can sense the fury kept leashed in that wiry frame.

Cas’ True Form is mighty and amazing, and Dean wants to see it again.  But he’ll hold this particular image of Cas in his mind’s eye for a long time.

 

xxx

 

Frustration drives Dean from John’s room, not for the first time since his dad has been admitted to the hospital, and probably not the last.  Hospital personnel give him a wide berth as he stomps down the hall toward the crappy coffee machine near the waiting area.  He doesn’t want any more coffee, but it’s an excuse to get the fuck out of there other than _my dad’s a giant bag of dicks and I currently want to introduce each one to the sole of my boot._

At least Sam’s got his back now.  Even if he has trouble keeping his cool and being reasonable with John when the senior Winchester refuses to listen to either of his sons.  

Bobby tries to help, keeping an even head when Sam and Dean both lose theirs.  It’s pretty clear to Dean that he’s not quite ready to jump on the _Cas is the good guy_ bandwagon, but he witnessed Cas pulling that archdemon right out of John’s body.  Cas didn’t have to do that to fight the other creature, but he had done it to protect John for Dean’s sake.  And even Bobby can admit that’s worth giving the incubus the benefit of the doubt for.  

“God, I still can’t believe Dad did something so stupid,” Sam says as he comes up next to Dean and leans against the coffee machine that Dean hasn’t actually started up yet.  “And lying to Bobby about taking you with him?  To go after a demon that we gave up trying to hunt years ago?”

Dean never wanted to hunt the damn thing.  Even as a half-trained apprentice, he’d known that killing an archdemon would be impossible.  He’d humored John for a few years, skipping weeks and sometimes months of school to join him on hunts, all while doing his best to prevent John from actually summoning the creature that ruined their family.  He couldn’t protect Mary, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let his father down, even if it meant sabotaging John’s summoning rituals.  Until Henry had stepped in and put his foot down, threatening to take the boys away and raise them himself if John didn’t straighten the fuck up.  That’s when John had disappeared for a while and met Kate, and subsequently fathered a new son that snapped him out of his funk.

“Yeah, he obviously wasn’t thinking straight,” Dean mutters.  He feeds the machine a dollar, and punches a button, then glares at the paper cup that drops down and starts to fill with a piss poor excuse for coffee.  

Sam’s voice is soft, and there is no judgement in his tone.  “He was just trying to protect you, Dean.”

Guilt settles like acid in his belly, and Dean grits his teeth against the urge to say something he will regret.  “So was Cas.”

John has fixated on the fact that Cas went all growly and protective over Dean against his own family, and is using it as an excuse to treat the incubus as a continued threat.  No matter how many ways Dean tries to explain to him that Cas didn’t know how badly he was hurting Dean, John is convinced that Cas is just playing with his food by keeping him alive as long as possible.

But Sam knows Dean’s stance, and John’s, and it does nothing for them to continue hashing it over in the hall.  Dean grabs his coffee, wincing at the heat radiating from the cup, and turns to look up at Sam.  “Have you gotten ahold of Grandpa yet?”

“Not yet.”  Sam falls in next to him and together they make their way back towards John’s room.  “I’ve left him several messages though.  Where do you think he is?”

“No idea.”  Dean takes a sip of his coffee, wincing when it burns his tongue.

Sam rolls his eyes and touches the tip of his finger to the side of Dean’s cup.  Instantly the coffee cools.  “Just ask next time, dumbass.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean grins, but he’s not sure if it comes across as sincere.  He’s so fucking tired.  His magic is drained, he’s still a little hungover from getting frisky with Cas recently, and after arguing with John for what feels like days even though it’s only been a few hours since he woke up from the sedatives the doctors gave him when they first got to the hospital, his brain feels like cold porridge that is only prevented from leaking out of his ears due to its lumpy consistency.

After nursing his coffee until it’s cold and Sam has to warm it back up for him so he can finish it, Dean stops just outside John’s door.  He doesn’t want to go back in there because he knows the arguments will start up again.  

It would be far less frustrating if he didn’t understand that John is just worried about him.  He has every reason to be.  Being with Cas will kill Dean unless he can figure out a way to protect his soul from being consumed.  Not even abstaining from sex will protect him for long.  He wasn’t just blowing air out of his ass when he warned Cas about letting himself starve until he loses control and sucks Dean dry down to the metaphysical marrow.

The stress that had started to abate slightly when he removed himself from John’s presence comes back with a vengeance.  There _has_ to be a way for him to survive.  They’re mates.  How could it even be possible to create that bond between two creatures unless they are compatible?

“Hey, are you okay?”  Sam’s big eyes peer out at Dean from under his shaggy bangs.

Dean rubs a hand over his face and tries to decide how honest he wants to be when he answers.  He could go into detail about what’s wrong, or he could answer with a simple no, or he could lie.  He goes with the last option because he’s a prick, and Sam already knows the answer to his question, and he should know better than to ask.  “I’m peachy, Sam.  Thanks for asking.”

His flippancy has the desired effect, and Sam’s eyes narrow.  He opens his mouth, probably with the intention to call Dean a dick, but never gets the words out.  Both of their attention is caught by the portal opening in the designated area close to the waiting room.

Not many mages have the strength to open a portal into a warded hospital.  Dean knows two personally.  Sam, and Henry Winchester.

Sure enough, Henry steps through the portal.  His normal impeccable attire is ruffled, and his wire rimmed glasses sit crooked on his nose, making him look like an agitated owl.  His eyes zero in on his grandsons immediately, and he reaches up to straighten his glasses.  A small smile curves his lips, but his eyes promise mayhem.  “Hey boys, I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.  I was on an errand and just heard the news.  Where’s my son?”

All Dean’s life he has only seen Henry Winchester angry a handful of times.  And it is never a pretty sight.  So he immediately steps out of his grandfather’s path and hooks a thumb over his shoulder at John’s open door.  Next to him, Sam makes room as well.  

Henry nods, and stalks between them.  He pauses in the doorway and points a finger at Dean.  “Stick around.  I need to talk to you.”

Dean looks up at Sam and sees his own wide-eyed worry reflected back at him.  That doesn’t sound good, and he begins to scour his memory for anything he might have done that will have gotten him in trouble.  “Sam, if Grandpa blames me for those books you took-”

“I’ll tell him,” Sam interrupts.  Then he swallows, and his eyes go even wider.  “Don’t let him hurt me.”

Before Dean can promise to protect him their attention is caught by Henry’s lecture.

“If your mother was alive, I’d be asking her whether she dropped you on your head when you were an infant, John,” Henry says coldly.  “Because I sure as hell know it wasn’t me.”

“Dad, I-”

“You really went after an archdemon on your own?  You aren’t even a Warlock.”

“I know, but Dad-”

“And even if you were, what reason could you possibly have to do something so ill advised?”

Dean and Sam both squirm uncomfortably.  Henry isn’t raising his voice, but the cold disappointment in his tone cuts like a knife, and they aren’t even the recipients of his displeasure.  

“Bobby’s still in there,” Sam whispers in horror.  

“Oh shit, we gotta rescue him.”  Dean doesn’t blame Bobby for what John did, and Henry might not either.  But just standing outside the door and listening to the dressing down is uncomfortable, so it must be magnitudes worse to witness first hand.

Braving the horror, Dean pokes his head around the door frame, and sees Bobby creeping stealthily towards the door.  Luckily Henry’s attention is completely absorbed by John’s insistence that he was doing his best to protect Dean and that he hadn’t actually been using black magic.  Yellow Eyes had caught him by surprise, breaking free of the containment circle.

“Which would have been far more secure if it had been infused by an actual Warlock,” Henry cuts in just as Bobby makes it out the door.

Bobby collapses against the wall, removing his hat and wiping his forearm across his brow.  “Don’t matter how old I get,” he says quietly so Henry won’t hear him from inside the room, “but I won’t ever get used to an angry Henry Winchester.”

Both boys nod their understanding.  Dean wonders what kind of stories he has of John’s misadventures when they were growing up together.  Then he decides he doesn’t really want to know.  He thinks John Winchester is intimidating as hell, so anyone that can make him cringe like a scolded toddler is scary as fuck in Dean’s book.  

“Dad, that demon is going to kill my boy.  I won’t let that happen.”  

There’s steel in John’s voice, which Dean thinks is incredibly brave.  And also makes him smile a little.  It’s always good to know that his dad loves him enough to face down the scariest beings on his behalf.  First an archdemon, and now his angry grandfather.  

“Well lucky for you, I’ve already come up with a solution.  So you can stop this hair-brained hunt, and let me deal with Dean and Cas.”  There’s a pause during which Dean exchanges surprised glances with Sam and Bobby, then “Dean, come in here, please.”

The way his shoulders hunch is involuntary, and he has to take a deep breath before he can force himself to straighten up.  John’s the one in trouble here, not him.  

Doesn’t stop him from wishing Cas was around to growl over him like an overprotective guard dog.  

When he steps into the room, John is sitting up in the bed.  He looks much better than when he’d been brought in because the doctors had taken one look at him and called in a Healer.  His bruises are already faded from purple to an ugly yellow-green that normally indicates more than a week of healing time.  He could probably be let out of the hospital soon unless Henry decides to turn him into a toad or something as punishment.

His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s staring - _pouting_ actually - at his knees under the blankets.  He looks like a five year old that has been put in time out.  The beep of the heart monitor seems to have picked up, and Dean wonders at what point doctors are nurses are going to come running to make sure he’s not having a heart attack.  He hopes they steer clear a little longer, because no one innocent should be subjected to Henry’s glare.  

That glare dissolves as soon as Henry turns to face Dean.  In its place is an excited smile.  “Dean, I have good news that I’d like to share with you.”

Dean casts a nervous glance at his dad who doesn’t look like he’s paying attention to the conversation.  “Oh yeah?”

Henry props his hands on his hips, and rocks back and forth on his loafers.  He’s obviously pleased with himself.  “I decided to pay Magnus a visit myself.  I just came from there, in fact.  He knew exactly what needs to be done.”

John’s head snaps up, and his jaw sags.  “You went to see _Magnus_?”

Confused, Dean looks back and forth between them.  “Uh… is that a bad thing?”

Henry waves a negligent hand.  “I’m no one special.  He wouldn’t want me for his collection.”

“Collection?” Dean parrots, still lost.

When Henry doesn’t answer right away, John rubs a hand over his eyes and answers for him.  “Magnus collects exotic magical artifacts, and sometimes he also collects unique creatures.”

“It’s one of the reasons he was kicked out of the Order,” Henry continues for him.  “And he probably would have loved to get his hands on a human mated to a demon.  You should have seen his eyes light up when I told him what I needed.”

It’s John’s turn to be angry.  “You didn’t let him know why, did you?  What if he decides to hunt down Dean?”

“I considered that,” Henry says, and this time he’s not quite so enthusiastic.  “It’s a danger we’ll have to face eventually, but he did give me something to prevent Dean’s death for now.  We can deal with Magnus later if we need to.”

“He may not be that much of a problem.”  Sam speaks from where he’s standing halfway in the door, as if he is giving himself an escape route in case he gets in trouble for interrupting.  He turns a smirk to Dean.  “You should have seen what Cas did to that archdemon.  I doubt a Wizard will be much of a threat compared to that.”

Henry’s eyes widen.  The last of his cold anger subsumed by his normal enthusiastic curiosity.  “Oh?  What did he do?”

Sam’s grin widens.  “He smote that archdemon like an avenging angel.  All that was left was a greasy smear in the dirt.”

“Really?”  Henry turns to Dean.  “Any idea how he was able to do that?”

“Probably has something to do with his mother being an archangel,” Dean mutters.  He’s not surprised when the room erupts in chaos, but he ignores everyone’s questions and focuses on Henry.  “Look, we can talk about it later, okay?  What did Magnus tell you?”

Disappointment flashes briefly over Henry’s expression when he realizes his curiosity won’t be sated in the immediate future.  But then his eyes begin to twinkle with humor.  He pulls a folded paper out of the breast pocket on his shirt and hands it over to Dean without another word.

Dean takes the paper and unfolds it.  He reads it over and over, and then looks up at Henry.  It’s a testament to how shocked he is that he doesn’t watch his language when he finally reacts to the words on the page.  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Henry laughs, and the tension in the room instantly dissipates.  “Go get him, kid.”

“Sam,” Dean spins around to confront his brother.  “I need a portal.  Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this, then an epilogue :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, have a chapter ;)
> 
> Warning: Creature sex, and a slightly painful size difference.

As soon as Dean steps through the portal, he is struck by the scent of honey and cloves.  He closes his eyes and inhales it deeply, and his heart starts to stutter with excitement.   

Cas is in his home - _their_ home - and this is something he can have. 

Before the portal even finishes closing behind him, there is a warm body pressing against him.  Arms pulling him close.  Lips brushing against his face.  Fingers plucking at his clothes and slipping under hems.  A cloud of pheromones envelopes him, and a buzz starts under his skin. 

“Cas,” he whispers just before his mouth is covered and a slick tongue dips in, giving him a taste of the venom he craves so much.  His fingers find bare skin, and he explores as much of it as he can reach.  Which is a lot, because of course Cas is naked. 

Bliss spreads through him with every beat of his heart, and he wants to sink into it.  Drag Cas down to the floor and explore every inch of his human body, lick and suck and fuck until they’re both boneless and mindless.  But he can’t yet. 

His body screams its protest at him, but he still manages to get a hand up between their chests and push Cas back just enough to end the kiss.  Seeing Cas’ dilated pupils and the venom glistening on his lips nearly ruins Dean’s resolve, but he resolutely puts more space between them.   

“Dean?” 

“Not yet, Cas.” 

Cas tilts his head, his eyes narrowing in confusion.  But then he seems to remember himself, and he steps back quickly, leaving Dean with an aching chill in his limbs because his body craves more than just the tiny amounts of Cas that he’s been getting lately.  

Flexing his fingers against the cold, Dean smiles, hoping that it comes across reassuring and not pained.  “It’s okay Cas.  Everything is going to be okay.” 

Cas makes an aborted move toward him, and then nods.  “How is your father?” 

Grateful for the distraction, Dean’s smile becomes a little more genuine.  “He’ll be alright.  A Healer was able to undo most of the damage.  The doctors are monitoring him right now.” 

Some of the tension leaves Cas’ shoulders.  “He is lucky he survived as long as he did.  His body was not meant to hold Azazel’s form.” 

Dean copies Cas’ head tilt.  “How do you know the demon’s Name?” 

Hate and rage make Cas’ eyes go black, and his lips pull back from his teeth, sending a spike of adrenaline through Dean’s blood even though he knows that he’s not the target.  “Azazel feeds on infants and children.  He steals them from their nests, and has been known to play with his food.” 

Revulsion turns Dean’s stomach and he swallows a few times before he’s sure that when he opens his mouth, it’s to speak and not to puke.  “That’s, uh… wow.” 

“He stole…” Cas takes a deep breath, and he exudes such an air of grief that Dean doesn’t want him to finish the sentence.   

“Hey,” he says when Cas doesn’t say anything for a moment.  He crosses the space between them, and this time he takes Cas in his arms.  The demon pushes his face against Dean’s neck, nuzzling the scar left by his teeth when Dean runs his fingers through dark, shaggy hair.  “Whatever he did, he’s dead now.  You got your revenge.” 

“He deserved to suffer more,” Cas murmurs.  He growls against Dean’s throat.  “He deserves centuries of pain.” 

Dean remembers the bright glow in Cas’ eyes every time he presses reverent kisses low on Dean’s belly.  The way he makes soft sounds of contentment as he pets over the skin that would cover a woman’s womb.  He has a feeling he knows exactly why Cas hated Azazel so much and he feels a twinge of regret that he can’t give Cas offspring. 

He scratches his nails over Cas’ scalp and hugs him tighter for a moment.  It’s time to change the subject.  “Hey, Cas...” 

Cas lifts his head and blinks away the sheen of tears in his eyes.  Dean swallows against the lump in his throat, and forces a smile even has he runs the pad of his thumb over his stubbled jaw.  It’s weird how he’s learned to enjoy the scratch of whiskers so much. 

He wants to blurt out the information Henry gave him, but instead he asks “Are you hungry?” 

The question receives a surprised blink, and then Cas’ eyes drop to Dean’s lips.  His expression is decidedly rapacious.  “I’m famished.” 

Dean chuckles and takes Cas by the shoulders, guiding him to the stool at the kitchen island.  “That’s not what I meant.  Park it, and I’ll make us some dinner.” 

He laughs again at the betrayed whine Cas makes low in his throat.   

“Dean, I don’t eat human food.” 

“I know.” Dean doesn’t have the patience to make a full meal, so he pulls the leftover spaghetti sauce Cas had made for him out of the fridge and fills a pot with water to make some fresh noodles.  “And that’s exactly the problem.” 

“What?”

Dean grins so hard his cheeks hurt as he puts the sauce in another pan to warm up.  He could pop it in the microwave, but he has to wait for the noodles to boil anyway, so he might as well do it right and not ruin the flavor by nuking it.   

“Dean, what problem?  What are you talking about?” 

“Hush, Cas.  You’re distracting me.”  He really shouldn’t enjoy Cas’ frustrated grunt as much as he does.  

“I can make dinner-” 

“No, I got it this time.  You just relax.”  Dean stirs the sauce in silence, and when the water comes to a boil he adds noodles.  Behind him Cas is practically vibrating with impatience, but he remains silent other than the muted tap of his fingertips on the surface of the kitchen island. 

Dean has no idea how he manages to move around the kitchen as if he’s not also jittery with nerves.  There’s a possibility that the information Henry got from Magnus is wrong, but it makes sense and he feels in his gut that it’s true.  Maybe that’s what is keeping his hands steady as he stirs the steadily warming sauce. 

It doesn’t take long until the noodles are the perfect level of al dente and the sauce is steaming.  Dean drains the pasta, splits it between two bowls and adds sauce.  Then he grabs a couple of forks and stands them upright in the noodles, before carrying the bowls to the island where he takes a seat on the stool next to Cas. 

“My favorite food is pie,” Dean says as he sets one of the bowls in front of Cas.  “Any pie, really, but especially pecan.”  He winks at Cas, and grabs his own fork to start twirling in the spaghetti noodles.  “You should know that in case you feel like trying your hand at baking.”  He shoves the forkful of noodles in his mouth and moans around the garlic and tomato-ey goodness, but he only chews for a moment before speaking again.  Thankfully, Cas doesn’t care about manners, and doesn’t scold him for talking with his mouth full.  “But I can’t eat pie all the time.  It’s not good for me.” 

Cas eyes the bowl in front of him, but doesn’t move to touch it.   

Dean reaches out and nudges it toward him.  “Too much of a good thing can actually be bad for you, Cas.  The body craves variety.  Do you get what I’m saying?” 

Blue eyes come up to meet his, curious and calculating.  “Dean?” 

Deciding to take a page from Cas’ book, Dean twirls up a fork full of noodles from his own bowl and holds it out to Cas.  “C’mon, just try it.” 

Cas’ eyes drop to the fork Dean holds just in front of his mouth.  The noodles are starting to unravel and are in danger of slipping free of the tines.  Cas’ lips curl in distaste.  

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with the taste when you were licking it off my face yesterday,” Dean points out.  His voice is low and rough because the idea of Cas wrapping his lips around that fork and eating the food Dean made for him is hot as fuck.  He’s never had a food kink before, other than maybe whip cream in interesting places, but Cas has opened his mind to quite a few things he never thought he’d enjoy, so what’s one more weird kink to add to the list? 

For a long moment he doesn’t think Cas is going to do it.  But just as Dean is about to break and explain to him why he needs to eat it, Cas opens his mouth and leans forward.  

Dean sucks in a small breath and holds it as he watches Cas.  The demon’s tongue flicks out against the bottom of the fork just before his lips close over it.  He pulls back, leaving the metal tines bare.  His jaw flexes once, twice and then he starts to chew in earnest.  Dean watches his pupils go round with pleasure.  The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips, chasing the flavor. 

A slow smile spreads over Dean’s own lips.  “Good?” 

Cas nods, and drops his eyes to the bowl Dean had left in front of him.  He pulls it closer, and grabs the fork.  He takes another bite, chewing slowly as if he’s trying to understand the texture. 

It’s so interesting to watch Cas eat his first meal of human food that Dean forgets his own, letting it go cold.  His eyes follow each trip of the fork from bowl to lips, cataloguing each tiny change in Cas’ expression.  With each bite Cas takes, Dean’s arousal increases until he’s hard in his jeans.   

He starts planning on which foods he’s going to introduce Cas to next.  Pie, definitely.  Burgers, fried chicken, pizza, and hell, maybe even a salad.   

When the bowl is empty, Cas finally looks up at him, eyes dark.  There’s a hunger there that Dean knows has nothing to do with food. 

There’s a smudge of sauce on his bottom lip, and Dean leans forward to lick it away.  When he sits back, Cas’ eyes are fully black, and he’s breathing heavily.  

“Tastes good, doesn’t it, Cas?” 

Cas nods.  His eyes spear into Dean, holding him in close as easily as if he were physically restraining him.   

“Want some dessert?”  Dean puts a hand on Cas’ knee, nudging so his stool spins to face him.  “I’m not sure I’m as tasty as pie, but-” 

The demon is on him before he can finish, surging off his stool and yanking Dean up against him.  Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders, one hand getting a grip on the hair at the back of his head, and pulls him into a kiss.  The honey and cloves of his venom is tinged with savory tomato and herbs, and it should be an odd combination, but it’s fucking ambrosia.   

Dean teases with his tongue until Cas chases after it with his own, and Dean suckles on it as soon as it passes his lips.  Small whimpers and breathless gasps escape him and he flexes his body against Cas.  The sounds turn frustrated when he’s blocked from feeling Cas skin by his clothing. 

He’s not the only one upset by the barrier.  Cas growls and starts pulling at his clothes.  Dean does his best to help, kicking off his shoes, toeing off his socks, and shimmying his hips when Cas pushes the waistband of his pants and underwear down over his hips.  Once he’s kicked them free of his feet, he starts moving Cas away from the kitchen to the couch.   

They finally separate for breath when Dean shoves Cas down on the cushions, and Dean takes the opportunity to pull his shirt off and toss it aside.  He stares down at the demon, conflicted.  Cas’ dick is thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, and Dean can’t decide if he wants to drop to his knees and suck it or straddle Cas’ lap and let it sink into his ass. 

Cas’ hips roll up, and his dick drags over his stomach, smearing precum.  Dean’s mouth waters and yup, knees it is.   

He kneels, and wraps his arms around Cas’ hips even as he leans forward to lap at Cas’ belly.  Can’t let a single drop go to waste after all.  The flavor explodes on his tongue, and he moans as he looks up to see Cas staring down at him with black eyes.  The demon is breathing hard, kiss swollen lips parted so that Dean can see the glint of his teeth.   

“Are you going to give me your mouth?” Cas asks roughly. 

Oh hell yes.   

Dean answers by dipping his head and sucking Cas between his lips.  A tingle starts on his tongue and spreads outward, and Dean moans again.  Cas tastes different; less sweet, but still addictive.  Keeping his gaze turned upward so he can watch Cas’ reaction to every swipe of his tongue and flex of his throat, Dean begins to bob in an uneven pattern, sometimes suckling at the head, and sometimes taking Cas’ cock deep.  He fists the base of Cas’ shaft since he can’t quite take him down all the way yet. 

Not that Cas seems to mind.  He leans back into the cushions, rocking his hips up in tiny thrusts, and spreads his thighs as far as he can.  The musky scent of his slick ass rises up, and invades Dean’s senses, and he’s unable to resist the urge to use his free hand to play with the slick hole that he desperately wants to fuck. 

“You want to put your cock in my hole?” Cas murmurs.  “I’m ready for it.  You can fuck me now, Dean.” 

Dean moans, and pulls off Cas’ dick with a slurp.  He can feel his own saliva cooling on his chin, but he doesn’t bother to wipe it away.  With both hands he grabs Cas’ hips and pulls him closer to the edge of the couch.  One look and he can see just how ready Cas’ hole is for him.  It’s open and leaking, and Dean bends down to lick a line over it.  He’d only intended to have a taste, but instead he fucks his tongue deeper, relishing Cas’ surprised whimper.   

He buries his nose in Cas’ perineum and thrusts his tongue deep, fucking Cas with his mouth the way he wants to with his dick.  Above him Cas is repeating his name in breathy moans, spurring Dean to try and get deeper. 

“Dean,” Cas rasps.  “Dean give me your cock.” 

That almost sounds like begging, which is usually Dean’s role.  The reversal is so fucking hot, he almost comes untouched.  He grabs the base of his dick and squeezes, staving it off because when he shoots his load, it’s going to be inside his mate. 

“Dean, please.” 

How can he deny either of them after that?  Dean licks up over Cas’ perineum, pauses to suck Cas’ balls into his mouth, one at a time, and then he straightens up to align his dick with the slick fluttering hole that belongs to him just as surely as his own ass belongs to Cas.   

Cas keens as Dean slides home inside him and then starts flexing his hips.  His body shudders and shakes, and Dean doesn’t even have to move.  Cas’ thighs work and strain as he fucks himself on Dean’s dick.  Dean should probably help.  It wouldn’t take much for him to move into each of Cas’ movements, but he’s enjoying the hell out of watching the demon squirm and writhe, slipping down further on the couch until his ass is hanging off the cushions. 

“Cas,” he grunts when a particularly enthusiastic wiggle nearly makes him come.  “I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

“Fill me, Dean,” Cas demands.  He grabs the cushions behind his head for leverages and fucks himself even harder.  “Fill me up.” 

Dean comes with a shudder, his hips stuttering forward and and pinning Cas against the couch.  His thighs go weak, and he falls back on his ass, his dick slipping free of Cas’ body with a wet sound. 

His eyes go wide when Cas immediately reaches down between his legs and shoves three fingers in his ass.  He scoops out cum and slick and immediately uses it to start jacking his dick.   

“Holy shit, Cas.” 

“Dean.  Come up here.”  He shifts and wiggles until he’s not hanging off the edge of the couch anymore. 

The invitation isn’t needed because Dean is already trying to coordinate muscles that feel like pudding so that they’ll get him back up on his feet.  He manages it but nearly collapses on Cas’ lap, knees digging into the cushions on either side of his hips. 

He falls forward, bracing his hands on the back of the couch.  He gasps when slick fingers press into his hole.  The sting of being stretched too far and too fast makes him hiss, but he pushes down against the invasion, wordlessly begging for more.  The fact that Cas is using a combination of his own slick and Dean’s cum makes him whine and rotate his hips.  His dick twitches, already trying to get hard again.   

He whines when Cas’ fingers disappear, but they’re quickly replaced by the blunt head of his dick, and Dean is so on board.  He bears down, gasping when the head slips inside, and then let’s gravity pull him down until he’s sitting on Cas’ hips, fully impaled on his dick. 

Cas sits up, and Dean gets caught by his black gaze.  They stare into each other’s eyes as Cas wraps strong arms around Dean’s waist and pulls him down, somehow grinding his cock even deeper.  Dean’s eyes flutter, trying to roll back, but he doesn’t want to lose the way Cas is looking at him.  

Like he’s seeing the face of God.  And his awe is all encompassing. 

“Cas…” Dean breathes out softly.  “Let me see you.” 

The demon’s head tilts in silent question. 

“The real you, Cas.” 

The black in Cas’ eyes recedes, leaving his eyes a softly glowing blue.  They’re wide and nervous and flick away from Dean’s face, which is not right.  He wants the devotion and the love focused on him again.   

“Please, Castiel,” Dean murmurs.  He tilts his head down and brushes his lips over Cas’ slack mouth.  “Please.” 

He breathes in Cas’ shaky exhale, and then deepens the kiss.  He sips at Cas’ venom as he feels the body beneath him shifting and growing.  He groans weakly when the cock in his ass grows impossibly larger, and for a few heartbeats he’s not sure he can take the new stretch, but his body adjusts.  He circles his hips and cries out when Cas’ dick presses hard into his prostate.  

His body jerks upright, his head thrown back on his shoulders, and he circles his hips again.  Huge, clawed hands clamp around his waist holding him still, and his eyes open as his head snaps forward.  

It’s just as weird meeting three eyes this time as it was the first time, but this time Dean doesn’t flinch away.  His gaze flicks between the three eyes staring up at him.  The center one never blinks, but the pupil twitches, expanding and contracting in unison with the other two eyes.   

After a long moment of mutual staring, Dean deliberately drops his gaze.  He follows the long line of Cas’ throat, pausing each time he comes across an eye-shaped mark on his skin.  The memory of a dream drifts to the front of his mind.  Wings as big and dark as the night sky, and eyes.  So many eyes. 

Like a monarch butterfly, or a peacock.  Covered in fake eyes to appear more intimidating.  It works, although Dean feels not a single ounce of fear.  He looks up, meeting Cas’ real eyes below the sweep of black horns, and smiles.  “You’re beautiful, Cas.” 

“Dean-” 

“I can see why the first time you were summoned the chick might have freaked out,” Dean continues gruffly, as if there isn’t a huge cock shifting inside him each time either of them takes a breath.  It’s incredibly hard to ignore, but he needs to make sure Cas knows that Dean wants him no matter what form he wears.  “You don’t scare me though.  And all I see is my mate.” 

Cas’ eyes widen, and he makes a tiny choked noise in the back of his throat.  “Dean.” 

A shadow surrounds them, and Dean breaks eye contact again when he realizes that Cas’ wings are arching around them both, creating a cocoon of black broken by the slow revolution of galaxies.  His head swivels around as he takes in the sight.  It’s like being under the night sky, only all the little lights he would see if he were standing on Earth are magnified as if he’s looking through the most powerful telescope.  As he watches, a star expands, glowing a red so dark that his eyes barely perceive it, then it flashes blue-white, throwing fire and light into the empty universe surrounding it.   

Tearing his eyes away so he’s not blinded by the display, Dean leans down over Cas.  His head just barely fits through the narrow space between Cas’ wickedly sharp horns that curl forward from his temples.  He closes the space between their mouths until their breath mingles again..  “Beautiful, Cas.  You’re like the moon, surrounded by the vastness of space.  And you’re mine.  God, you’re mine.” He cups Cas’ cheeks, thumbing over his cheekbones.  “You’re mine and I love you so fucking much.” 

Cas’ pupils expand until all three eyes are fully black again, but with his wings surrounding them, they reflect the universe back at Dean.  He surges forward and slides his tongue past Dean’s lips, filling him with sweetness and spices.   

The clawed fingers tighten on his waist and then lift him up a few inches before slamming him back down.  He swallows Dean’s rapturous cry, and does it again.  Fucking deep and hard, and now supernovas are going off in Dean’s brain.   

Feathers, silky and cool brush against Dean’s spine and he arches into the touch like the cat that Cas sometimes resembles.  They slide over his skin as Cas continues to lift and pull him back down.  He can feel them on the back of his neck, and in the cleft of his ass, and it’s too much stimulation and not enough.   

His muscles don’t want to hold him up, so he reaches up and grabs one of Cas’ horns to steady himself.  The other hand goes to his dick, which has fully recovered from his last orgasm, and is a few strokes away from shooting another load.   

“Dean.” 

His response is an incoherent garble which could be _Castiel,_ or _more,_ or _mate,_ or all of the above, but could just as easily be interpreted as the first line of the Declaration of Independence. 

“Dean Michael.” 

Hearing his True Name forces Dean to focus, and he opens his eyes which had fallen closed as he concentrated on the raw pleasure radiating through his body.   

“I love you too,” Cas gasps, and then he’s pulling Dean down, shoving his hips up, burying himself so deep that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if his belly bulged a little.  And then he’s coming, filling Dean with his seed.  “ _M_ _y mate._ ” 

As his orgasm crests through him, Dean throws his head back and howls.  His fist jerks over his dick, cranking himself higher and higher, until his muscles seize and the only thing holding him upright is the press of Cas’ wings against his back. 

Gentle hands bring him down until he’s laying across Cas’ chest, and the sound of their hearts beating in tandem lulls him into sleep. 

When he wakes again, he’s alone on the couch.  It takes a monumental effort to turn his head on the cushion to look for Cas, but there’s no sharp pain behind his eyes or waves of dizziness.  He feels a little muzzy, but it’s no different than any other time he’s woken up from an unexpected afternoon nap.   

The true test is sitting up.  He moves gingerly, but he doesn’t feel weak or woozy.  Sore, yes, and he winces when his ass presses into to couch cushion.  Wow, he is going to walk funny for at least a few days after the fucking he just received. 

The clank of dishes pulls his attention to the kitchen.  Cas is back in his human form, and still buck-assed naked.  Of course. 

Dean grins.  That’s the creature he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.  “Hey, Cas.” 

Cas turns, bearing two bowls with spoons.  He smiles as he brings them to the couch where he sits down close enough that his thigh presses up against Dean’s.  The bowl he hands over is filled with mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

“Wow, gonna try the good stuff now, huh, Cas?”   

A bashful smile pulls at the edges of Cas’ mouth.  “I very much enjoyed my first meal.  I assume I will probably enjoy dessert as well, if your reactions are anything to judge by.” 

Dean laughs.  “I wasn’t enough dessert for you?” 

Cas’ eyes glow with humor.  “I will never get enough of you.” 

A blush burns across Dean’s cheeks, but he doesn’t shy away.  He stirs the ice cream in his bowl but doesn’t eat it yet.  He waits, watching as Cas takes a small bite.  And he laughs again at the pure delight in the demon’s eyes. 

Cas is almost finished with his ice cream and starting to eye Dean’s even though it is starting to melt when Dean speaks again.  “How do you feel, Cas?” 

“I will feel better if you eat, Dean.  You’ve lost weight, and I want you to be healthy.” 

“Ice cream will make me fat, not healthy.”  But Dean takes a bite anyway, enjoying the minty cold treat as he rolls it around in his mouth.  After he swallows it down, he tries again.  “Do you feel different?” 

Cas narrows his eyes, his head tilting as he tries to understand.  “Different how?” 

“I dunno.”  Dean shrugs and takes another bite, speaking around it as it melts in his mouth.  “I mean, I feel different, so I think it’s working.” 

“What is working?”  But even as he finishes asking the question, Cas goes still.  His pupils contract, and he stares hard at Dean.  “You… your soul.” 

This is what he is looking for.  Confirmation that Magnus’ information is correct.  “What about it, Cas?” 

Taking Dean’s bowl and setting it aside with his own, Cas tries to scoot closer.  He can’t, but he leans in close until he’s almost nose to nose with Dean.  “It’s… brighter than before.” 

Joy bubbles up inside Dean, and he can’t help the manic grin that takes over his face.  “Yeah?  So it doesn’t look like you’ve drained me?” 

“No.” Cas’ fingers brush over Dean’s cheek, down his jaw, and settle over his pulse.  “It looks like you’ve taken in what I’ve given you.  It’s not draining away anymore.” 

Throwing up his hands, Dean lets out a happy whoop.  He wraps them around Cas’ shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug.  “It worked, Cas!  It worked!” 

“What worked?” Cas asks against his neck. 

Dean shoves him back, holding him at arm’s length.  “Food, Cas!  You just need to eat human food!  And then you can sustain a human mate!” 

Cas’ eyes go wide, and his jaw drops. 

“Dude, I am going to introduce you to all my favorites.  And now you can also enjoy all the recipes you learn.”  Dean is nearly bouncing, he’s so excited. 

Watching the smile spread across Cas’ face is like watching a full moon come out from behind dark clouds.  “Gabe told me once that I should try hamburgers.” 

Dean laughs in delight.  “Oh hell yes.” 

Cas’ bright smile is interrupted by a jaw cracking yawn.  When it ends, Cas shakes his head, and blinks at Dean in surprise. 

“Ah yeah… uh the side effect is that you’ll need to sleep.”  Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck.  “Sorry about that.” 

Crinkles appear around Cas’ eyes, and he leans forward until their foreheads bump.  “I believe it will be worth the sacrifice of a few waking hours a day in order to be with my mate.” 

Dean leans into him.  He wants to close his eyes against the intensity of Cas’ stare up close, but at the same time he wants to bask in it forever.  “It will most likely shorten your lifespan, although mine will end up being longer.  I don’t know how that’ll work out.  The research doesn’t say.  But I told my grandpa I’d write a book about it, so I guess we’ll have to figure it out for ourselves, huh?” 

Cas nods, rocking their foreheads together.   

“And I was hoping you would go on Hunts with me, too.” 

“Of course.”  Cas’ fingers trace patterns on Dean’s thighs, and he starts looking a little distracted.  Apparently ice cream isn’t the only treat he wants right now.  

Dean’s on board, but there’s one more thing he needs to say.  “There’s also a chance that getting this information might have put us in the crosshairs of a Wizard who likes to collect sentient beings as pets.  He might think we’re unique enough to add to his menagerie.” 

“When I kill him, it won’t be an issue anymore.” 

Dean laughs.  He knows Cas is deadly serious, but he can’t help be amused by the casual threat of mayhem.  “Only if it becomes necessary, Cas.” 

Cas shrugs, and obviously decides he’s done with the conversation.  “I’d like to fuck you again now, Dean.” 

“Well don’t let me stop you, Cas.” 

Hours later, it’s Dean’s turn to watch Cas sleeping.  Drunk summoning a sex demon may have been a Very Bad Idea, but it’s also the Best Idea he’s ever had in his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the end of the story! The promised epilogue is more of a time stamp for those of you who wanted mpreg.
> 
> I know a lot of you hoped that Dean was pregnant throughout a lot of the fic, and I seriously considered it as I was still developing the story. But I hadn't planned on it, and therefor didn't tag for it and I didn't want to throw that in there without giving people warning. However, Castiel _loves_ babies, so he's going to get one. The epilogue will be about mpreg, so for those of you who want to stop here, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and clicking the kudos button. You've made this story a joy to write. 
> 
> For those of you who want to see Dean get knocked up, stay tuned ;)


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who wanted mpreg, this chapter is dedicated to you. But specifically to 1940sdeancas for practically bouncing with excitement about it in our Tumblr chats. I swear the letters bounced. _They totally did._ I hope this lives up to your expectations ;)
> 
> And a huge thank you to JupiterJames. You know this fic wouldn't exist if you weren't such a goddamn enabler. Y'all owe me some mShenko porn now! :D

The idea comes to him in the shower.  His chest is cold where it is pressed against the tiles, but Cas is a tower of flame against his back, warming him from the inside as he whispers filth and praise in Dean’s ear.  Dean arches his hips back, taking Cas deeper and harder, and he’s nearly there, and…

Cas cups the hand that Dean isn’t fucking into low around Dean’s belly, and groans in demonic about how beautiful he would be when swollen with child.  Dean nearly misses the words because he’s in the middle of a truly mind blowing orgasm.

It’s not until Cas is gently washing his body, his fingers lingering over Dean’s belly again that he really registers what Cas said to him.  Cas tends to forget that Dean understands the demonic language.  He’s not completely fluent, but he knows enough.

He knows Cas wants children.  

Now he just needs to figure out what he’s going to do about it.

 

xxx

 

Sam looks at him like he’s insane.

“Are you insane?”

Dean wipes a hand over his face.  It comes away damp with sweat.  “It sounds insane, doesn’t it?”

“You’re going to do it anyway aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

 

xxx

 

“Jesus, this spell is complicated,” Dean grunts as he grinds unicorn horn and succubus venom into a fine paste in his pestle.  “Thank god Bobby didn’t ask what I need half of this stuff for.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky he had most of it too,” Sam says as he carefully traces runes onto a copper goblet with a burned stick of redwood.  Then he grumbles “too bad he didn’t have all of it.”

Dean chuckles.  “What did you have to do to get the succubus venom, Sammy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam bites out.  His cheeks are so red, they nearly glow.  “You could have warned me.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise!”

Sam sighs, and squints harder at the symbols he’s tracing.  “Come on, we only have three days until the full moon, and we still have a lot to do.”

Dean knows Sam isn’t pissed at him.  He saw his brother’s satisfied smile after the succubus was sent on her way.

 

xxx

 

Ignoring the itch of drying paste on the skin under his navel, Dean thinks _well here goes nothing._ Out loud he chants the old Gaelic words to the spell he’d spent the last week working on so painstakingly.  He lifts the copper goblet to his lips, and tries not to breathe through his nose before taking a swallow.  

It does him no good.  The potion still tastes like sour milk and baby powder.  

Keeping his gag reflex under control is easy though.  He gets a lot of practice with Cas.

The thought of his mate is what strengthens Dean’s voice when he speaks the next part of the spell.  He takes a mouthful of potion, and the taste is sweeter than the first time.  The last words of the spell slip from his tongue as easily as the “I love you” he said to Cas earlier after the demon fell into a sound sleep that allowed Dean to sneak out of the house for this little shindig.  

He swallows the rest of the potion, and it is pure and delicate on his palate.

It takes a few minutes to start kicking in.  When a ball of warmth begins to grow deep inside his belly, tears of joy prick the corners of his eyes.

He can’t wait to tell Cas.

 

xxx

 

It turns out Dean doesn’t need to say anything.  He barely makes it into their bedroom before Cas is sitting up in bed, scenting the air.  His head whips towards Dean, his eyes illuminating the dark room with their blue glow.

Dean gets out half a greeting before Cas is throwing the covers back and is dragging him down onto the mattress.  The demon rolls Dean onto his back, and starts snuffling all over his body.  Dean does _not_ giggle when Cas’ nose brushes sensitive areas, he’s far too manly for that, even with the spell he’d just cast on himself.

The rumble of Cas’ purr soothes the last of Dean’s nerves.  He is doing the right thing.

Besides, Cas isn’t the only one who wants kids.

After Cas started eating human food, their sex lives had calmed down somewhat, although it would never be as calm as what most human couples experienced.  But most of the sex they have is still the raunchy, animalistic kind that leaves them both boneless and exhausted.  Not tonight though.  

Cas has never been so gentle and so patient.  

Dean has never felt more cherished.  And that’s saying something.

When Cas finally comes inside him, Dean gasps softly.  It’s the only sound he makes as his own orgasm washes over him.  

They both know immediately that it took.  

Cas curls around Dean, burying his face in the crook of his neck and nipping the scar there.  Moisture trickles from Dean’s eyes, trailing down his face to mingle with Cas’ tears.

 

xxx

 

“Why the hell is it called ‘Morning Sickness’?” Dean shifts on his knees, trying to ease the deep ache caused by kneeling on the hard bathroom floor.  “Why isn’t it called ‘All-fuckin’-day Sickness?”

He rests his face on the cool porcelain of the toilet, and is grateful for the magic that keeps it clean.  Although thinking of what kind of germs _could_ be there makes his stomach rebel again.  Not having a gag reflex when objects are shoved down his throat does not help him in this situation, and he coughs and sputters as his stomach tries to expel absolutely nothing because he’d emptied it more than half an hour ago when he ended up here in the first place.  

It takes a few minutes to regain control and take a deep breath.  He’s very careful to steer his thoughts away from anything having to do with hygiene, and focuses on the way Cas’ fingers feel as they card through his hair.  

“This can’t be normal.”

Cas’ voice is almost as soothing as his touch.  “It _is_ normal, Dean.”

He knows it’s true, but he doesn’t want to hear it.  He wants to whine and wallow, and have Cas nod agreeably to whatever he says.  But not only is he a grown fucking man and not a toddler, but he’s afraid that standing up just so he can stomp his foot will start the whole dry-heaving fiasco all over again.  

They’re silent while Dean tries to breathe through the waves of nausea.

“Would you like some more peppermint tea?” Cas asks after a moment.

“God, yes.”

 

xxx

 

Dean shivers as he drops his robe.  He looks anywhere but at the full length mirror hanging from the inside of the closet door, but eventually his eyes find their way to his reflection.

From the front the small curve isn’t even noticeable, although he’s starting to fill out and get love handles.  He’s already uncomfortable in his jeans and has switched to wearing lounge pants almost constantly when he doesn’t need to look presentable for work.  

It’s not until he turns sideways that what looks like a little bit of belly pudge reveals itself to be the outward swell of a growing life.  He stares, petting his hand over the still unblemished skin, and wonders at what point it’ll feel like a baby in there instead of just an odd lump.

Cas appears behind him in the reflection, and runs his hands from Dean’s shoulders, and down his arms until he can tangle their fingers together over their growing child.  His lips are warm at Dean’s nape.  “While I always appreciate seeing your body clothed in nothing but air, it’s chilly in here.  You should put something on.”  He flashes his teeth at Dean through their reflection.  “Or I could take you to bed and keep you warm.”

His dick twitches.  It’s definitely voting for option two.  

So is Dean for that matter.  He turns in Cas’ arms and pulls him into a kiss.

 

xxx

 

Dean always thought moms who framed their ultrasound pictures were weird.  

Not anymore though.  Now he gets it.

The frame he sets on the table next to his bed says _Love at First Sight_ at the bottom, with a rainbow of stars surrounding the words.  Cas picked it out.  Dean thinks it’s pretty fucking accurate.

 

xxx

 

“Ugh, I feel like a walrus, I look like a walrus, I move around like a walrus,” Dean groans as he struggles to stand up from the couch.  “What’s that saying about ducks?”

Sam holds out a hand, which Dean grudgingly accepts, and pulls him to his feet.  “I’m pretty sure you’re not a walrus, Dean.  Just a grumpy fuck who eats too much pie.”

“Hey, the kiddo likes it as much as I do,” Dean protests.  

“Like mother like son?”

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Hey, you should totally name him after me.”

"I take bribery in the form of pie."

 

xxx

 

“Stretch marks are not ugly, Dean.”

“You only say that because you love me.”

Cas’s mouth quirks up in a teasing smile continues to rub lotion into Dean’s large belly.  “Something like that.”

Dean laughs, but cuts off when he’s jolted by a kick against his diaphragm.  He glares down at his stomach, but his expression fades into a smile as he sees movement near his belly button.  “Looks like someone wants your attention, Cas.”

Cas places a gentle palm over the spot that feels like their son is trying to break through with a Karate chop, and his pupils expand as he watches where they’re connected through touch.  “I’m eager to meet him.”

“Me too,” Dean murmurs.  Despite the fact that he wishes the kid would lighten the fuck up on his internal organs, joy suffuses him, warming his skin.  He jumps a little at an extra vigorous kick.  “Soon, I hope.”

Cas smiles up at him.  “Yes, soon.”

 

xxx

 

The first cramps wake Dean from a dead sleep.  At first he thinks the kid is just kicking extra hard, but as he becomes more aware he realizes that the pain starts at the base of his spine and spreads up in waves over his sides and across his belly.

“Oh fuck,” he moans when the contraction ends.  “Cas… I think it’s time.”

Cas is out of bed immediately and on the phone with Sam.  Then he’s helping Dean out of bed just in time for Sam’s arrival through a portal.  

“Have you got everything you need?” Sam asks.  He grabs the bag Cas gestures at and reopens his portal to a new location.  It’s not the same hospital they usually go to since the staff there refused to let down enough of the warding to allow Cas to come with Dean for the birth.

Because of that, Sam has been on twenty-four hour call for the last few weeks.  The closest hospital that will allow Cas through their wardings is two states away.  Obviously a trip in the car isn’t going to get Dean there.  And he needs to be in a hospital.  The information about the pregnancy spell said that Dean _should_ be able to give birth naturally although his plumbing isn’t quite right for it, but there’s no fucking way he’s going to put himself through that.  Luckily the doctors immediately agreed to a c-section when they learned of his condition.  

 _Fuck natural birth_ , Dean thinks as Sam and Cas help him through the portal.  There’s nothing natural about his pregnancy, so he’s going to take the easy road for delivery.

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Cas is whispering encouragement in his ears.  It helps.

“Mr. Winchester?”

He looks up and smiles in relief when he sees Dr. Baum striding quickly toward him.  “Hey, Doc.  Boy, am I glad to see you.”

She chuckles and gestures for him to settle down in the wheelchair a nurse is bringing for him.  “I’ll bet.  Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you and your little one.”

 

xxx

 

Green eyes with slitted pupils stare up at Dean with as much fascination as Dean is staring back.  Cas had warned him that their child might not look human, and that he wouldn’t gain the ability to shift forms until he’s a few years old.  

Already Dean can see that the boy has tiny lumps on his forehead that may eventually develop into horns.  There are also reddish gold wings curled carefully against his back inside the blanket he’s wrapped in.  He’d been anticipating those since they’d shown up on the ultrasounds, but otherwise he hadn’t know what to expect.  A third eye and skin markings like Cas’, maybe.  He could have ended up with cloven feet, or claws, or even leopard spots for all Dean knew.  

But other than the cat eyes, the baby horns, and the downy wings, the boy looks human.  In fact, he looks a lot like Dean’s own baby pictures.

“What should we name him, Cas?”  They had decided to wait to choose a name until they met their son for the first time.  But now that the moment is here, Dean is drawing a complete blank.

His mate is cuddled against his side, despite the fact that the hospital bed isn’t really big enough for two full grown men.  But no one is stupid enough to try and get Cas to put any space between his mate and his offspring.  

“We could choose from the list I made for you before I learned your Name,” Cas suggests.

Dean snorts.  “Uh, yeah, no.”

“They were good names, Dean.”

“They sucked, Cas.”

His mate huffs out a laugh, and gives up on the argument.  He brushes a finger over their son’s cheek, and Dean smiles when the boy turns curious eyes in his papa’s direction.  His tiny pupils expand, and he makes a gurgling sound that Dean is going to pretend is “papa”, because Dean calls dibs on “daddy”.

“What about an angel name?” Cas asks.

Their son makes a cooing sound and waves his arms vigorously, making Dean and Cas both laugh.  Dean didn’t think loving someone as much as he loves Cas was possible, but the squirming bundle in his arms is quickly proving him wrong.  

“I think he likes that idea,” Dean agrees.  He directs his next words to his son.  “But which one?”

“We can guess until he tells us which one is right.”

Dean finally looks away from the tiny miracle in his arms, and glares at his mate, although there’s no real heat behind it.  “Are you fu-” he stumbles over the word and redirects, “-udging kidding me?”

Damn, he’s going to have to curb his language.  Little ears are listening.

He can tell from Cas’ expression that he’s not kidding.  But it’s not actually a bad idea.  “Fine, you start.  You probably know more angel names than I do.”

Cas grins so wide his nose wrinkles, and he turns his attention back to their son.  “What about Leliel?”

The baby’s face turns red and he lets out an angry sound, which shouldn’t be funny.  Dean happens to agree with the kid though, so he can’t help laughing.  “I think that’s a ‘no’, Cas.”

“Kokabiel?”  

Dean can’t tell if their son is disagreeing, or trying to fill his diaper.  “I don’t think he likes that one either.”  He’s a little disappointed.  Naming their son after the angel of stars would be appropriate. Maybe if they discover that their son isn’t actually choosing his own name, they’ll come back to it.

“Israfel?”

“Ugh, no.  Come on, Cas.”

Cas huffs in frustration.  “Why don’t you try?”

Dean looks down and meets his son’s too-aware-for-a-newborn gaze.  “What about Matariel?  We can call you Matty for short.”

He swears it looks like there is consideration in those green eyes, but then his son makes a frustrated noise and kicks his legs.  

Cas tries again.  “Samandriel.”

Dean sees the recognition in his son’s eyes and knows Cas’ guess is right.  “Samandriel,” he echoes.  This time the kicks and flailing fists are accompanied by a happy gurgle.  “Well I guess that settles it.”

“We can call him Sammy, after your brother.”

“Oh hell no,” Dean laughs.  “Sam’s already too full of himself.”  He directs his next words to Samandriel.  “I’m gonna call you Alfie.”

He receives an actual raspberry in response.  Dean throws his head back and laughs.  When he finally catches his breath, he looks back and forth between Cas and Samandriel.  “Okay, okay, fine.  Sammy it is.”

Sammy coos happily, and tiny fingers curl around Dean’s finger.   

“Would you like me to take him while you rest?”  Cas is clearly eager to hold his son, so Dean nods and lets Cas lift the small bundle of wiggling limbs from his arms.

Cas is careful to cradle Sammy’s head, and not crush his delicate wings, and his eyes shine with so much love that Dean would be jealous if Cas didn’t also look at him with that same devotion.  Tears blur his vision, at the sight.  That’s his family.  

He always had a vague idea that he’d eventually marry and have kids.  But it was always something far in the future that he didn’t think about much if he could help it.  But now it’s his reality, and he doesn’t know what he could possibly have done in a past life to deserve the happiness filling him right now.

When Cas looks up at him, Dean hurries to wipe the moisture away from his eyes, but he’s too late.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers gruffly through a watery smile.  “I’m awesome.”

And he has a feeling it’ll only get better from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel like writing about it in detailed story-mode, but here's some additional info for anyone who is curious.
> 
> John and Cas do eventually get along once it's clear that Dean isn't in danger and is deliriously happy. John sometimes goes on hunts alone with Cas when Dean can't go with him for whatever reason. Short hunts. Cas and Dean can only go about three days without seeing each other before Dean starts experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
> 
> Henry and Dean write a book together about demon/human matings. Cas and Henry bond over their love for their family, and generally enjoy each other's company. 
> 
> Sam finishes his schooling and joins the Men of Letters. Sam is tickled pink that Dean stops calling him "Sammy" since they use it as a nickname for Samandriel. 
> 
> Adam eventually becomes a healer. He specializes in treating supernatural creatures that integrate with human society and half-breeds. When Samandriel starts medical school, Adam takes him on as an apprentice.
> 
> Samandriel's full name is Samandriel Adamant Winchester. Cas and Dean gave him an extra complicated name as a way to protect him since he is an incubus and they don't want to make it easy for people to use his Name to control him. Adamant is Adam's True Name.
> 
> Magnus does come after Cas and Dean when he learns about them, but when he finds out about Samandriel he changes focus because he wants the baby incubus instead. His body is found with the eyes burned out and his internal organs liquefied. It's assumed he was killed by an angel since those are the common signs of a smiting. The whole Winchester family looks at Cas warily for a few days afterwards. Except for Dean, who can't stop grinning for a while because he knows an unholy creature dishing out holy wrath is really fucking hot.
> 
> Cas and Dean don't have any more children. The pregnancy seemed normal, but it was actually very hard on Dean's body. He has difficulty healing from the c-section and ends up staying in the hospital for a month. Neither one of them want to risk the spell again.
> 
> Samandriel is over 400 years old before he settles down and mates with Gabriel and Kali's daughter Hel. Cas and Dean are still around to see their grandchildren.
> 
> Anyway, those are my vague future thoughts about these characters. You can ask me questions of course, but I'll probably make more things up as I go since that's pretty much how this whole story has gone for me lol. Thank you again for reading and tagging along for this accidental wild ride :D
> 
> Oh and Cas' True Form was partially inspired by [this work](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/post/132370195893/fanart-for-chapter-15-of-addicted-to-you-by) and [this work from alloutofgoodnames](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/post/135214041283/alloutofgoodnames-submitted-fanart-for). THANK YOU!
> 
> I'm going to take a little time off writing to let my brain rest, but there's already a new AU itching at the back of my mind. Here's hoping it sticks around, because it's another super fluffy fic like Kiss the Baker, and I'm kind of excited for it :D


End file.
